Five Stages of Grief
by Sincerely Tiffany
Summary: Hank Voight has to mourn. He has to come to terms with Justin's death. He has to accept what he cannot change. As he battles through the stages of grief, a different side of Voight comes out during the process and with Erin's love, help and comfort, he's certain to get through it.
1. Denial

It's true. Death will visit all of us one day. It may be a dark thought, but it's a realistic one. It's something that cannot be evaded. It's the common antagonist that plagues the story of all of our lives. Some lives have many chapters while others are cut short. Some of us are lucky enough to avoid it as long as humanly and medically possible; while others are unfortunate enough to have it lurk at their doors before old age can arrive and fully set in. Death is final. Death is the end. It's the end of everything –the soul, the body, the personality, the consciousness- it's the end of everything that makes a person, a person. Death is hard. It's hard for everyone, especially when it arrives unannounced. It's something that could knock at your door months in advance in the form of a life-threatening disease, or it's something that could occur unexpectedly-in a split second. Just like that. One moment you could be with your son singing happy birthday to your grandson as you both beam over him excitedly and the next; you could be finding your son's barely alive body in the trunk of a car. It's quick. It's sudden. It could come out of nowhere. Justin, a healthy son, a caring brother, a loving father, and a hardworking husband was taken from him –from this world- just like that. The man who was responsible for his son's death was taken away –unbeknownst to most- just like that. Death could occur in half a second. It's quick. It's straight to the point. You spend your life looking for its meaning, trying to understand your purpose, working to accomplish goals and actually be somebody while building family, friends, and endeavors, only to have something, such as death, be the final thing. We all die. It's the same ending to everyone's story; death, it will eventually visit all of us one day.

Along with death, comes a mourning process for everyone to eventually move on; to allow us to grieve and come to terms with the loss life. There's an understood procedure –the five step grieving process- that people go through when death falls upon a loved one. Everyone's different. Everyone reacts differently. There's no right or wrong way to grieve. You can't grieve wrong; it's impossible. You may touch every step in the process, or you may skip a few. You may settle longer on the first step while briefly surpassing the next one. There is no finish line; grieving isn't a race. We all have our different ways to cope with death. There are many books written about it, but nothing and no one can prepare you for the day it inevitably happens. Nothing or no one can rush your grieving process. It's all up to the person; we're all different, we're all made to be different, and with that difference comes a diverse way of reacting to the good and the bad. With that difference fused with the occurrence of death, comes the possibility of denial. It's the first step of the grieving process, but really, there is no specific direction. Some people may jump to the third step before going back to the first. There's no right or wrong order. It's just a process. It is emotions listed out in a five step method in order to label what someone is feeling as they're faced with the death of someone close. It's what is told to us so that we know what we're feeling and why we're feeling that way. And for the sake of the written five-step grieving process, denial is first. It's the first feeling we get the moment we hear the news; someone close to us has died, and in order to cope with the quick unexpected news, we fall into a mental pit of denial, the rejection of reality –of the truth- in hopes that it isn't.

Denial; it's an avoidance. It's a mental and emotional escape. It's a way to help us survive the unavoidable loss of a loved one. It's where we question everything. We don't care about anything. Work becomes meaningless. Tasks become overwhelming. Life makes absolutely no sense. What's the purpose of it anyway? Are we born just to die? We are in a brief state of shock. When the loved one isn't beside us, we assume they're out living their lives, until we're reminded of what happened. We forget. We go numb. As a father, you are left sitting at your dining room table, drinking a cup of tea, wondering how you can possibly go on. Voight found himself doing that for the last five days-since Justin's death. It's only been five days. Five days felt like a lifetime; it felt like forever. Five whole days without his son and he already wondered how, if possible, can he go on. Why should he? It's been five days since the unimaginable happened, and realistically thinking, Voight doesn't know if he can bring himself to leave the dining room table, let alone the house.

Hank's rough hands surround the mug of tea; they're clasping it. His coarse hands –the hands of a killer- are delicately shaking. He brings the cup to his lips and he drinks the bitter tea. His eyes are glazed over as they stare at the photo held up by a magnet on the refrigerator. It's a photo of him, Camille, Justin and Erin. It's a photo of his family; the family with two less people. Voight's eyes focus in on the picture; the age wears against the corners and it has faded over the years. It may have been worn down with time, but it was precious. It was one of the few things he had to remind him of everyone he cared for in one piece. It was his routine. It helped pass the time. If he focused in on the photo, he could envision that day. He could think back to the day both Justin and Camille were alive; the day his house was filled with voices and laughter. Looking at the photo was his method in simply getting through each day. It was how he coped; pretending that the past was present was his way of carrying on. Voight was content with it. He didn't mind spending his days in denial if it meant he was going to feel good. Denial helped him. It got him through the day. It helped him function. It pulled him out of bed, and into his usual seat at the dining room table. Denial felt good to him and he no reason to end it.

Voight blinked slowly –his eyes remain focused on the picture- he blinks again. And again. He blinks to hold back the tears. Blinking has a way of keeping them away. He brings the mug towards his lips; the second he prepares to take another sip, loud knocking rips against his front door. He jumps; it startles him. A few drops of his warm tea falls onto the knuckles of his hands. It catches him completely off guard. He wasn't expecting company. He hadn't had visitors since Justin's death. He hadn't answered phone calls or text messages. Voight had completely shut himself away from the outside world; not wanting company from anyone, yet someone is outside knocking at his front door. Hank reaches over and grabs his shotgun leaning against the wall. He takes the fully loaded weapon, walks down the hallway and approaches the front door.

"Who is it?" Voight positions the weapon correctly in his arms.

"It's me," he hears the familiar voice of Erin.

Hank lowers the weapon and uses his free arm to unlock and open the door. Erin closes the screen door behind her as she steps into the house. His eyes watch her; they take in the sight of her red and puffy eyes. He sets the shotgun down, "Why didn't you use your key?"

"I didn't want to get shot," Erin muttered as her line of vision focused on the gun he set down on top of the mantel.

Erin follows behind Voight; he doesn't speak another word. The two haven't seen each other since the night he killed his son's murderer. She needed her space. He accepted that. He needed his too. She also accepted that. They both lost someone they love and they're both grieving in their own ways. Erin follows him into the dining room; he retakes a hold of his previous seat and his eyes find the picture his days has been filled staring at.

"I'm not here to talk about it," Erin's raspy voice is low; the peak of her nose is red as she uses the back of her hand to rub it, "I don't want to talk about it," he automatically knows what the 'it' refers to; it refers to what he did, the act he committed, the unthinkable deed he has done, "I'm not here to talk about any of that."

"What are you doing here then?" Voight brings the mug of tea up to his lips. He slurps up the chilled beverage before clearing his throat, "…not that I'm complaining. It's just I haven't seen you in a while. I thought you forgot about me."

"I didn't."

"So," Hank's hands unwrap around his mug, "what brings you here then?"

"Olive wants us to take care of the funeral plans."

Voight's eyes rise to meet hers, "Do we have to do that now? Now is really not a good time."

"There's never a good time," She pulls out the seat across from him and sits down, "It's almost been a week. Justin deserves a funeral Hank. Everyone who loved him deserves to say goodbye. Olive wants the funeral as soon as possible and then she and the baby are moving to Minnesota to stay with her mom."

Sometimes living in your own realm of denial creates a perfect and peaceful atmosphere. Sometimes that realm is disturbed or ruptured by outside forces. People don't want you living in denial. Everyone wants you to face reality even when you're not ready to approach it; denial helps us avoid it. Denial helps us pace our emotional state of grief. It is our body's way of letting in only as much as we can handle. Piece by piece; we only let in what we are physically, mentally and emotionally able to bare. It's a protective mechanism. Voight stares down into his cup of cold tea –he doesn't want it anymore, his thumb brushes around the rim of the mug, "I don't want to talk about this!"

"You need to! We both do!" Erin's voice pleads with him; she leans across the table and covers his hands with her own, "We can't just pretend that everything is okay!"

"Why can't we?"

"…because it'll eventually catch up to us Hank. We can't ignore what we're feeling. We can't try to bury our emotions. Take it from me! Take it from someone who knows loss! Trust me when I say you don't want to do that. You don't want to crawl into a hole and bury yourself there. You don't want to ignore your emotions and settle for a brief substitute of feelings just to disregard your true ones. You don't want to push me away; your foster kid who loves you and is there for you, regardless of what you've done, I'm here for you."

Erin feels Hank's hands slide from beneath hers as he sits back. He has been content in his house for days without the bother of anyone, and now Erin was ruining all of that. Erin was trying to force him out of his realm of denial –out of his comfort zone- she's trying to bring him back to reality, back to the fact that his son is dead. Justin is gone and he's never coming back.

"He died too young," Hank muttered; his eyes are glazed over as his attention focuses back on the photo, "He died so unexpectedly. And now all I'm left with are memories of him in a framed photo. That's all I have left of him."

"No," Erin rises from her seat and approaches the side of Voight, "you have your grandson. You have the memories in your mind and in your heart. Those will never go away." Her arm wraps around his shoulder and she leans into his seated form, "Justin is with Camille now. He's at peace. He's resting in peace. They're taking care of each other."

Voight shrugs her arm off his shoulders, "…yeah, well, who do I have?"

"Me," She answered, stooping low. With her knees bent, and her eyes staring into the man she considers her father figure, she takes another hold of his warm hand. His eyes meet hers and he gives her a small smile; an appreciative grin. It's comforting, and it relaxes her tense shoulders.

Lindsay rises, straightens her legs and without pulling her hand from Voight's hold, she walks to her seat. She retakes her chair –sitting across from him- and her eyes fail to maintain the hold they had with one another. His eyes focus over her shoulder; they're staring at the picture hanging upon the refrigerator. He's calm. He seems to be somewhat at peace, and Erin uses that to approach the subject that brought her to his house in the first place.

"Justin is going to get a military sendoff so there's not much for us to plan," Erin begins speaking; she intertwines her fingers and leans her arms against the wooden table, "I have that already taken care of; we just need to pick a date, a location, and then inform those who we want to show up to the funeral. I was thinking we-"

"Erin, whatever you decide I'm perfectly fine with."

"This is your son Hank, you should have a say."

"And I say that I'm okay with whatever you decide."

"Hank-"

Voight interrupts, "I know you loved Justin like a brother and I know that however you plan this funeral, it'll be perfect. It'll be just what he wanted. It'll be closure for all of us."

"I need your input." Erin nervously bites down upon her lower lip, "I don't know the first thing about planning a funeral. I don't want to make the wrong decisions. Justin deserves the best. He should get the best and by myself, I don't know the first thing about giving it to him."

"I can't think about that right now Er-"

Lindsay cuts him off with the quick shake of her head, "You can grieve Hank. I'm not trying to tell you that you can't. You just can't avoid reality. You can't avoid what needs to be done. It's okay to have grief; it isn't a sign of weakness, it's just the price of loving someone." Erin immediately jumps back as Hank hops to his feet. He discards the mug of tea in the sink and turns on the faucet water. The loud blare of waterfall fills the cup and he turns it over to allow its contents to go down the drain. She hears dishes clattering behind her; each bang being louder than the last. Hank is upset. He's angry and he's frustrated.

Erin turns in her seat to find him aggressively washing dishes. The heat from the water emitting a steam that rises up to dampen Voight's reddened forehead. The back of his hand momentarily presses against his forehead; he's sweating, and after picking up the dish towel and drying his hands, he throws it onto the counter, "What's the point in even having a funeral?" Voight turns to face her; his back leaning against the countertop, "He won't be there. He's already gone."

"Funerals aren't for the dead; they're for the living." Erin responds, slowly rising to her feet. She approaches Hank, and leans beside him to turn off the water, "It's a way for everyone who loved Justin to say goodbye." She leans her own back against the countertop; her form positioned comfortably beside him, "It gives closure to all of us. It's a sendoff; a celebration of some sort. It's a celebration of his life and a see you later kind of thing."

"It's not mandatory to have one."

"…it's not, but it helps."

"Helps who? Not Justin, he'll still be dead! Not us, we'll still be grieving. My grandson will still be fatherless. Olive will still be without her husband. Who does it help? Tell me." It's the first time he looks vulnerable; it's the first time she sees him in all the years she has known him as some delicate person who could break at any second. When Camille died, he had chosen to grieve in private and be strong for both her and Justin. However Justin's death brought out a different side of him; it brought out a side that worries her. It's unfamiliar and unfamiliarity is scary. It's strange and unexpected. She didn't know how to respond to his question. She didn't have all the answers. She wasn't expecting any of this. Erin had thought that once she came over to Voight's, they would get straight to planning the funeral so she could leave. She needed time just like him. She needed time to grieve herself and to come to terms with what he did.

Lindsay had wanted to pull Hank out of his realm of denial. She had been there before and the longer you put off reality, the harder it hits. Life is a bitch, and it doesn't take pity on anyone. It doesn't care what you've been through. It doesn't care about the number of hardships that have been placed on you and in your life. Life is set up to be an obstacle course. Some people make it through and some don't. Life's a bitch. It doesn't care about anyone. When Hank killed Justin's murderer, she had fallen into that realm of denial. She had used the days following his death to pretend that it never even happened. Hank didn't kill anyone. It's what she told herself when she woke up and it's the last thing she told herself before she went to sleep. She used those days to focus on grieving for Justin, not on the actions Hank decided to take to get justice for his son. However, ignoring the truth, ignoring the reality, just made all the emotions that much harder to get through. She had to split her time between grieving for Justin and coming to terms with the cruelty of Voight's actions; he did something despicable that could never be taken back.

"Erin, I'm fine," she breaks out of her reverie to hear him continue his spill of emotions, "I'm," he looks up and meets her eyes –completely forgetting where he left off, "Why is this happening to me…to us? Why must I face burying my son?"

"…to get closure," she rests her hand upon his shoulder.

"If I can live in denial, why do I need closure?"

"…because you can't live in denial forever," Erin asserts; her loud voice pulls in Hank's undivided attention. He's no longer focusing on minor tasks to pass the time or to keep his thoughts off of reality. He's focusing in on her. And the moment she sees she has his attention, she calms, sighs and responds, "It's easy. Denial is easy; it's an easy _temporary_ cure for pain. However Hank, one day, you'll be forced to face reality and that's when the perfect world you imagined based upon the self lies you told yourself will fall to pieces. I don't expect you to get over it because I know I won't. You can't just get over something like this. When you love someone and they die, there is absolutely no getting over it. You just learn to get through it. You learn how to live your life without them. And together," she takes a hold of his hand, "we will."

The second you accept reality of the loss you experience, and began to ask questions, you are unintentionally beginning the healing process. Voight breathes out a breath of air that he had been holding in, "Are we doing burial or cremation?" It hurts to ask but he manages to get it out.

"I honestly don't know his wishes. I don't know which he prefers. Neither does Olive; I guess we all assumed we had," her voice breaks and she finds herself struggling to finish her sentence, "I guess we all thought we had more time. I was older than Justin; I never assumed I would have to bury him. He doesn't even have a will. We have nothing to go on Hank…that's why I need your help planning this!"

Voight gently squeezes her hand, "We'll figure this out."

You become stronger; the more you focus on reality and work to get through the grieving process, you grow tougher. You work together along with others who feel the same way as you do in order to move on. And as you start to embrace reality –ask questions and involve yourself in productive daily activities- the denial will begin to fade. But as you continue, all the feelings you were denying in the first place will begin to surface. It's inevitable. You have to feel. It's a part of what makes us vulnerable humans. We all have to feel. We're not supposed to ignore our feelings; what's the point in having emotions if you can just ignore them? When reality becomes too uncomfortable to accept, we deny the validity of it. It's easier than facing the truth. However, with a strong foundation and loved ones who refuse to give up on you, accepting reality and working through the emotions of grief can become a little bit easier.

There was no mistake. There is no reason to cling onto a false reality in picturing Justin still being alive and well when he's not. He's not here. He's not coming back. There's no reason to fool oneself into thinking he is. Erin wrapped her arms around Voight, and pulled him into a tight hug, "How are we supposed to figure this out if we don't know what he wants?"

"I'm sure he doesn't care about the minor details," Voight whispers; his hand reflexively running through her brunette hair, "I'm sure he would be happy in knowing that the people he loves showed up to send him off. And remember, you said this is more for us than him. His soul is gone. He's resting in peace. We choose what we feel he would want; there is no way in knowing whether it's the right decision, but as long as we're comfortable with it, then its fine, right?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"You always know what to say. You seem to be good at this."

"…that's not something I'm proud of," she gradually pulls from the hug and smiles, "After Nadia's death, I tried to bury my feelings and everything else in drugs and alcohol. It wasn't one of my proudest moments, but I moved past that. I got better. I got clean. From my personal experience, I know that denying everything is bad, and pretending that everything is okay is even worse. We have to take our time and grieve. We have to do what's best for us. We have no way of knowing what Justin wants, so we have to do what we want and hope –pray- that it was his wish. Life is so short Hank. We shouldn't be spending it on the minor details of a funeral, we shouldn't focus on regrets or what ifs; it should be spent celebrating the lives lost and the lives that are still here. We should be telling our loved ones how much we love them. We should tell them just how much they mean to us because we never know when it's their time to go"

"You're right," Voight pulls her into another hug, "I love you kid." He pecks the side of her forehead.

"I love you too Hank," Erin sniffs quietly, "so much."


	2. Anger

Anger is one of those emotions that can be triggered by anything –depending upon the person. The second stage in the grieving process is necessary; it's kind of required. By allowing yourself to feel angry, you're giving yourself permission to feel, to hurt, to question. You're taking everything in at once and that's okay; anger is a natural reaction. It's covered up hurt. It's always easier to admit when you're angry or frustrated than it is to admit when you're hurt. The feeling of anger may feel endless, but you have to feel it. You have to let it in just so you can let it out. If you want to come to terms with the loss you suffered then you have to embrace the anger bubbling up within you. The more you let it in and truly feel it, the more it will start to dissipate and the more you –personally for Hank, as a grieving father- will heal.

It has been three weeks since Justin's death; three weeks since his entire world changed forever. It seems that time is this figment of his imagination that is standing still but is actually passing. After the funeral, Voight momentarily felt better; it felt good to see the opened-casket of his son. It felt comforting to send him off in a military-style funeral. He didn't know it at the time, but he needed that; he needed to say goodbye again. And the realm of denial he had been living in was gone; he didn't know the exact moment it left, but it's gone now, and in its place is anger. He has anger towards himself for Justin's death, for what he did to Justin's killer, for being stuck in this pit of grief that he can't seem to get out of by himself; he's angry at Olive for moving his grandson hours away to Minnesota. He's angry at Erin because she won't give up on helping him, angry that he loves her just as much as he loved his wife and son, and angry that she's back at work. She's back working as a detective, and she never thought to tell him. She never mentioned going back. He had to find out from Olinsky; the woman he practically raised and thought of as a daughter withheld this information from him.

It fuels Voight's anger as he storms into the precinct. Platt is forced to buzz him up now that he doesn't have access to the bullpen upstairs. And as each foot presses down upon the escalating stair, he grows even more enraged. This was important. This was something he deserved to know. This was vital information that she purposely held back. Voight approaches the top step and he notices the questioning eyes of each detective sitting around the bullpen. None of them matter. He's not here for any of them. His eyes fall upon Erin –her focus is on a file she's skimming through- and the second he sees her, he begins storming over.

"What the hell are you thinking?"

She's caught off guard. Erin looks up, and closes the file, "Hank, what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Voight approaches her desk, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm working."

He quickly snatches the file from her hand, "No you're not. Pack up your stuff and come on."

"With all due respect-" She stands.

"Erin, you're not working here." Hank simply waves for her to follow him.

Jay steps forward, "Sir-"

"Halstead, mind your own damn business. This is between me and her. Stay out of it." Voight snaps loudly and more sternly than he intended. He wanted to get his point across, but not at the expense of pushing everyone else away. In response to his angered words, Erin nodded for Jay to take a cautionary step back. By the look on Hank's face, he was fuming in rage; a dark shadowy bubble of anger continues to expand within him –minutes away from exploding.

"This is my job Hank," the assertion in Erin's voice demands to be taken seriously.

"You can find something else to do."

Her arms are thrown into the air; she's in disbelief, "Like what?"

"I don't know, but we'll think of something for you to do."

"I'm sorry Hank. I'm staying." Erin retakes a hold of the file and her seat.

"No you're not!"

"Sir, you don't need to get upset," Adam takes in the sight of everyone nervously staring at Voight. He's unpredictable right now. The detective hesitantly walks around his desk.

"How can I not be upset Ruzek when a piece of my soul has been ripped away from me so suddenly?" Hank abruptly turns to face the younger detective; there's pain evident in his eyes as he continues to respond, "How can I not be upset when my son was killed weeks ago?"

"I didn't mean you shouldn't be upset about that. I'm just saying you shouldn't be upset about Lindsay working here. You know how the job goes."

"And that's exactly why she's no longer working here."

Erin stands and shouts, "Voight!"

"Erin, I'm serious! Justin is dead."

It hurts her just as much as it hurts him when she responds, "I'm not Justin."

"No, you're not." His eyes search the room; they're looking for something to focus on besides her as he continues, "You are not Justin," anger settles in the tone of his voice, "You're not him because you're alive and I would prefer to keep it that way."

"Hank-"

"Erin you're all I have left." Voight cuts her off; he didn't care what she had to say. All he wanted to hear from her is agreement and he wanted to see her start packing up her desk. However, as she continued to make no indication of leaving, the fragileness in his words toughened and filled with anger, "My wife and son are gone Erin. They're never coming back. My grandson is in Minnesota and Olive has no incentive to come back. I have to go there to visit him. You're all I have left." He's vulnerable right now. It's something he can't control or contain. Ignoring everyone else's presence around him, he agitatedly approached her, "We both know this job; we know that at any second something could go wrong."

"It won't."

Her ignorance and obliviousness irritates him. It furthers the anger already fuming within him. Voight's hands grip her shoulders, "You don't know that. We don't know that. We don't know anything. And if something happens to you too, it'll be no bringing me back." His eyes bore into hers and she knows he's serious. Voight won't be able to handle another death. He especially won't be able to handle hers. The anger, the demands and the stubbornness on his part was all there to just cover up the hurt and the pain he's feeling. It's the only other way he knows how to express himself without showing the vulnerability hidden behind his words and actions.

Anger is just one of the superficial top of emotions for grief; there are many other feelings under anger that one brushes upon, but they'll eventually shed light in time. Anger is the emotion most of us are used to feeling and managing; it's the emotion we resort to when we can't distinguish an unfamiliar one. Anger has no limits. It's one of the emotions that can extend to any and every one –both present and away. Your friends, family members, doctors, your own self, strangers, the loved one who passed and even God can be subjected to the other end of your rage. Blaming the loved one who died is more normal than one would assume. Logically speaking, we know they're not to blame, however, emotionally speaking, we hold some resentment in thinking that the loss of that person is what is causing all of these raw emotions to rise to the forefront. We blame the deceased person, and the guilt behind blaming them makes all of us even more angry. No one is immune to its presence. The moment one recognizes that denial cannot continue, you become frustrated and upset. You look for someone to blame. You look for someone to dump your feelings on. You need someone to be at the opposing end of your emotions. Reality is present; you're stuck in it. There's no going back into denial because you already fully embraced the truth and the pain of it. Reality is ready for us, but we aren't ready for reality just yet, and therefore that deniability and refusal to accept it morphs into anger.

We want to protect those we love and care for; we don't want the same fate of the deceased loved one to fall upon them. Instead of focusing on the passing of the loved one, we focus on the person we still have with us. We burden them with our emotions. We rationalize it as us trying to protect them. We can't bear to go through grieving again. We're not even through the whole process yet, but we already know that it's going to be a hard road of recovery –of moving on.

"Nothing is going to happen to me." Erin whispers; she's now sitting behind her desk, file laid open in front of her, and her eyes avert between the case file and Voight hovering above her.

"Just like we thought nothing was going to happen to Justin." He rests his opened palms against her desk; he's leaning forward, and his raspy voice continues to fill with burning irritation, "We thought he was safe. Months ago we never would have guessed that we'll be having this conversation. We never would have thought he would be taken from us so soon."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not quitting my job Hank." Erin asserts; she focuses back on the paperwork and begins shuffling through the stack of files, "There are people out there that need me."

"I need you!" He admits desperately.

She looks up; her eyes meet his in avowal, "And you have me." She asserts in confidence. She meant it. He has her –now and always- he has her.

It's like no one else is in the bullpen. Everyone is listening and everyone is taking in the new side of Voight they're seeing. They've just never heard him admit something so heartfelt and genuine. He was hurting and he was expressing himself the only way he knew how. With his eyes piercing into hers, he continues, "What if this job takes you away?"

"…then it was my time." She closes the file and stacks them together. Lindsay won't be able to get any work done until Voight leaves.

He pulls away from her desk, "That's not comforting at all."

"When it's our time to go, we can't fight it, we can't change it, and we can't do anything about it. It's fate. It's our time. Some of us go early and some us stay a little later than expected."

Erin sees the heartbreak in Voight's eyes. He feels that he couldn't protect Justin so he vows to protect her. He can't lose both of his kids. Erin gets up and walks around her desk. She sees the worried eyes of her co-workers as they each want to say something to Voight but out of fear of setting him off they remain quiet. Erin is the only one who can get through to him. If she isn't able to, then none of them will be. She circles her arms around Hank and her head rests against his firm chest –her eyes meet Halstead's and she could see the worry within them. Since Justin's death, he had been concerned for her; she had been so focused on helping Hank that she rarely has time to help herself. She smiles at him and Jay momentarily relaxes. This Erin is a completely different Erin than the one he saw after Nadia's death. He can tell she's hurting, but he can also tell that she's handling it better than she did after Nadia died.

"What's the point in caring and loving someone if all it is going to do is bring me pain?" Voight's voice fills the quiet bullpen. His arms are wrapped around her and he's holding onto her for dear life. He's holding onto her as if he were let go, she would disappear.

Erin feels his arms tighten around her, "It's a risk we're all willing to feel if it means we can expose ourselves to love."

"I don't like feeling like this." He can't squeeze her any tighter; she may literally break. The muscles in Voight's arms threaten to burst out of the short sleeves of his shirt; against his wishes, he's forced to loosen his hold on her, "I don't want to feel like this. And I'll eventually get through it, but I refuse to feel like this again."

"Unfortunately, we don't have a choice in the matter."

"Yes we do. You're coming with me."

Lindsay pulls herself from the hug, "And what?" She comments in disbelief; her eyebrows are furrowed together in confusion, "You're going to lock me in a padded cell? We can't avoid death. We can't live our lives in fear Hank!"

"I'm sure the team wouldn't mind packing up your desk for you."

"I don't get off until eight," Erin argued, she's backing towards her desk.

Voight turns away from Erin; his eyes scan the room for Dawson, and the moment he spots him leaning against Mouse's desk, he responds to Erin, "You're going to send in your letter of resignation to Antonio."

"No, no I'm not."

"Erin, do you care about anyone but yourself right now?" His words snap in the air; the tone of his voice and the look on his face is strained. It's taunting and it's filled with a burning rage that she has never seen before, "Everything isn't always about you! Justin is dead! He's gone! The man you saw as a brother was killed and you're acting like it's nothing!"

"No, I'm not!"

Underneath all of the anger he's feeling, is pain. He's in pain; not physically, but mentally and emotionally. He feels alone. He's the only one currently going through this right now. He feels like he's the only one taking Justin's death to new heights. It is completely normal to feel isolated and abandoned because we live in a world that fears anger. We look at anger as a negative emotion. We try to hide it. We try to simmer it down. We try to ignore it or call it an entirely different emotion. We confuse anger with annoyance, frustration or irritation because those are much more accepted than anger itself. Anger to most of society is an emotion that should be fixed and avoided. When it is expressed, it is seen as a problem. There is anger management counseling, but there's no counseling for annoyance or happiness or even irritation because those are accepted by all of society. Those are understood emotions that everyone is okay with experiencing or being on the receiving end of. We don't choose to be angry. It's a natural reaction to some type of stimulus in our life. It's a cause and effect type of thing. We don't snap our fingers and become angry. Something occurs and we react in different ways –it's out of our hands- if anger is the reaction, there's nothing wrong with that.

Sometimes anger is there to hide the pain and protect ourselves from experiencing further pain. Sometimes we have to do what we don't want to do in order to protect our emotions. Voight refuses to feel like this again; call it the hurt or the grief, but he refuses to go through the grieving process again and he's not even through with it yet.

"If you stay here," Voight hates the words that are approaching, "I'll cut you off. Don't visit me. Don't call me. Don't check up on me."

"Hank-"

"I'm doing this to protect myself! I'm doing this to protect my feelings because you don't understand when I say that I cannot go through this pain again! I can't bear to lose another person; I won't be able to handle losing you too."

"Hank just-"

He cuts her off, "You don't care Erin! We cared about you –Justin and I- we cared, but it seems like the feelings aren't mutual."

"That's not fair!"

"What's not fair is how selfish you're acting! What's not fair is how insensitive you're being!"

Erin's arms cross over her chest, "You're angry; I get it, but it doesn't give you the right to be an ass." She understood how he was feeling. She missed Justin too, but it didn't give him the right to give her an ultimatum. It didn't give him the right to push her out of his life.

"Justin would want this Erin. He would want me to protect you."

"Not at the expense of taking away my freedom!" Erin retorts; she senses Halstead approach her and his comforting hand rests against her lower back, "Justin wouldn't want us living in fear! He wouldn't want us hiding away from the world and only interacting in situations that are within our control. He wouldn't want that! He would want me doing what I love to do! He would want me here, helping people, like he was helping people! That is what Justin would want!"

"Helping people got him killed. Make a decision Erin; me or the job."

Anger is powerful; it's strength, it's toughness and it's a great, and not always understood emotion. It's an anchor of some sort –it provides a temporary support to the emptiness of loss, of death. If you're lost, it reels you in. It steadies you; you're lost in this world that we call life, and when there feels to be no connection to anything, it finds one. Anger pushes you to find one because you end up becoming mad at someone; it could literally be anyone and for any reason. A person who couldn't make it to the funeral, an individual who is barely around you, a person who acts in a different manner now that your loved one is dead, or even an individual who seems to be moving through the grieving process quicker than you could be on the receiving end of such anger and hostility. That's when the support is built; the structure that the anchor holds you to. You no longer feel lost. Your anger being directed at them is what keeps you whole; it links you to someone so that you're no longer alone. The emotion serves as a connection that links you to someone else; it gives you something to hold onto. And unfortunately, a link or a connection made from the power of anger feels so much better than nothing, than solitude and emptiness.

Erin relaxes, but Jay's comforting hand still remains pressed against her back, "I'm not picking. I'm not going to make a decision. I'm not choosing."

"By not choosing, you're making a choice." After simply tucking his hands into his front pockets, he turns around, "I'll go." He's facing the staircase when she calls after him.

"Voight! You can't make me choose between you and my job; my dream job!"

"You would choose this over me." His back is still to her.

"No! I wouldn't."

He turns around, and extends his right hand, "…then come on. Let's get out of here Erin." Voight's voice pleads –practically begs- for her to listen and do as he says. It could be taken as a request or an order; it's up to anyone's interpretation. The break in his voice is a surprising sight. If the detectives didn't see it for themselves, they honestly wouldn't believe it. They didn't know Voight was capable of acting or sounding like that. He was distressed; his desperation mixed with a cloud of anger. This isn't the sergeant they've known for years; this is the sergeant that only Erin –and sometimes Olinsky- had the pleasure of seeing, of experiencing whenever his protective walls dropped. The Voight they were used to was the one that made an appearance directly after Justin's attack; the Voight seeking revenge and hurting whoever gets in his way. That was the Hank Voight they were used to being around; not the stranger before them.

"No, I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving because I know you. You're making permanent decisions based on temporary feelings! You're giving me a permanent ultimatum while you're high off anger. You're grieving Hank! You're grieving for your son! And you're angry! Your anger is clouding your better judgment. You want me to quit my job now, and then later you'll request for me to stop doing other things too; it'll continue until I put my foot down. Well, I'm putting it down now before you request for me to do anything else." The two are speaking as if no one else is present. It's a little awkward for the rest of the detectives to witness such a personal and private moment, but they all remain quiet out of fear of Voight's reaction if they were to interrupt. Erin wipes her eyes; this is hurting her as much as it's hurting him, "I'm grieving too. Justin was like a brother to me. I know him better than I know my own biological one. I just…" she clears her raspy voice, "I don't think that's a fair decision you're asking me to make."

His right hand drops, "I'll just go then…" He presses his lips together and nods.

"Don't leave like this." Erin pleads; she feels Halstead's arm wrap around her waist. It prevents her from approaching the now pacing Voight, "Talk to me. That's what I'm here for. I'm here for you to talk to me, tell me how you're feeling, vent, anything, just don't make demands on my life. That's what I'm not here for."

"I can't have anything happen to you too."

"I understand that, but-"

"I don't think you do," he interrupts; his voice raises a few octaves when he cuts her off, "When you have kids yourself, you'll understand. You'll do anything to keep them safe, even if they're not happy about it. I blame myself for what happened to Justin. I wasn't there. I didn't know he came back to town early. He didn't feel comfortable enough coming to me and asking me for help. He didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth, and that's on me. It's my fault. I should have been a better dad. And now, you're the only kid I have left, and if something were to happen to you, it'll be my fault. No matter what anyone says, I'll know that I could have done something to prevent it. There's always a way to avoid something. I just have to try. And if I fail, and something happens to you, I'll always know that I could have tried harder."

Erin slides herself from Jay's hold and slowly approaches the man she has always seen as a father. He was more a dad to her than her own biological one. The Voights were more of a family to her than the people who created her. Lindsay clasps her hands around Voight's hands, "Hey," she lightly yanks upon them to earn his full attention, "I don't know when it'll be my time to go, but whenever it is, if you're still alive and kicking, you need to know and understand that it's never your fault; you are completely blameless for my way in the future death and Justin's death. I don't plan on dying any time soon; I plan to definitely outlive you." She gives him a small dimpled grin, "If God forbid, the job takes me out before I'm ready to go, then that's not your fault either. That's a heavy burden to bear Hank; you can't blame yourself and Justin wouldn't want you blaming yourself either." She takes in the angered expression plastered on his face; she's definitely not getting through, and she soon feels his hands tighten around hers, "Hank listen to me, take it from someone who knows what you're going through, the absolute worst possible anger you can have in your life is the one you have against yourself." In her peripheral she sees the occasional head nod from her coworkers, "You have to forgive yourself. You are not to blame. You have to accept what you cannot change. And you have to realize that you can't control the future. You can't control anyone's fate, not even your own."

Society as a whole usually experiences the suppressing of anger more than actually feeling it. Anger, itself, is just another sign of the strength and power of love. It's a reminder of just how deeply and passionately we feel about the people we love. Worry and concern are follow-up emotions in the expression of one's love for a family member, friend or other loved one. Some responses may seem irrational or completely absurd, but it's out of love. That's the purpose; that's what rationalizes the irrational and reasons the absurdity. To love someone is a sacrifice; it's a risk. You risk the possibility of losing them. Voight already lost Justin and Camille; Erin was all he had left. If something were to happen to her, he wouldn't be able to take it. He's not built to handle such tragedy in such a short period of time. His only alternative; the only thing he could think of to protect himself was to cut her off; it may hurt now, but he'll eventually get over it. He has to think about himself; he has to think about what he is capable of handling and her death isn't one of them.

"I'll always love you kid," Hank withdraws his hands from her hold, and briefly turns to face the other detectives, "You better have her back out there," he sees each of them nod, "if anything happens to her, I'll hold each one of you personally responsible." He turns back to face Erin and pecks her forehead, "Goodbye kid."

"Hank!" She's forced to watch him walk away, "Hank! Let's talk about this!"


	3. Bargaining

Everyone grieves the death of a loved one differently; no two people are alike. How Hank grieves is the way he grieves, and who are we to say he's doing it wrong? It's a process. It's a process that has neither an expiration date nor a deadline. Grief, for some people, can begin even before the loved one is dead. For Voight, it definitely began before then, it began the second he had to say goodbye. The second he went to the hospital for the purpose of seeing his son for the last time had been the start of it all; it was the start of his grief. As he desolately spoke compassionate words to his son, kissed his forehead and cried before him, he couldn't help but wonder why it wasn't possible to exchange his own life for Justin's. Justin was young. He had a one year old son. His whole life was ahead of him. When you love someone more than you love yourself, you find yourself willing to do anything if it meant they could be spared. You want to negotiate; you're willing to give up any and everything just for the chance to see or speak to your loved one again. The compromise is in direction towards the person or higher entity that you fully believe has control over the situation. You think offering up your life, pledging to change a fault or vowing to break a habit would be a strong enough promise to bring your loved one back for good.

You plea, you promise, and you swear to change your ways if only your loved one would come back. You try to make a deal with some higher entity or whoever you deem is in control of the fate of your loved one. However, it isn't sufficient; promises aren't miracle workers. A temporary truce –such as a bargain- isn't strong enough to halt death. You know that's all true, but it doesn't stop you from making promises anyway. You find yourself –six weeks after Justin's death- promising to cut him some slack next time, stay out of his business, trust and respect his decisions; you find yourself vowing to be the perfect father to him if you were given a second chance. You wonder: what if I devote the rest of my life to helping people, what if I promise to never get angry again and what if I swear to follow the law, go to church and live the life of a saint? If you promise to do all of that maybe Justin will come back? Maybe it was all a nightmare? It's a lie if you truly believe it. It's just another way to deny the truth. Justin is gone. He's gone and he's never coming back no matter how much you want him to.

Our minds become transfixed by the idea of if only and what if declarations. We want to go back. We want to be able to simply snap our fingers, change one minor detail and rewind time to stop the inevitable fate that has plagued our loved one. We want to be able to control the situation; if it was something done on our part we had the power, if there was something we could have changed, the power remains rested in our hands. Even if we have no power, bargaining, gives us a sense of it; we think if we trade in something for the loved one, we can get them back. If we give them this, we'll get what we want in return. It has been six weeks since Justin's death; three weeks since he last saw and spoke to Erin. Sometimes the decisions we make for ourselves –we may not like or agree with- we only make them because we think it's for the best. We think pushing people we love away is what is needed in order to stop the future hurt that death upon them could cause us. It's how we protect ourselves. It'll hurt now, but possibly, in the long run, it'll serve its purpose in lessening the pain.

We want our lives to go back to better times; times of laughter, happiness and the sweet perfection of innocence. The innocence of a child and the innocence of a pet provide us with the obliviousness of death. We want life itself to return to what it was. We want our loved one back. We wish to be able to snap our fingers and go back in time to stop death whether it's by diagnosing a disease more quickly, stop an accident from occurring or prevent your only son from attempting to do a good deed. A good deed is what got him killed. If only death was that simple. If only death taught lessons and allowed us to rewind time and fix our mistakes. If only we could have stopped it. If only we could have sacrificed ourselves. If only death was an easy natural occurrence that was simple enough to get through without the added emotions. However, nothing involving death is easy. Life may have flashed through the eyes of the deceased, but their life flashed through your eyes as well. You remember everything you've said and done to them. Your last words are constantly on repeat. You try to remember a joke they've told you, advice they've given or just the sound of their voice and laugh. You try to remember everything.

Voight finds himself sitting in the living room –a small smile stuck on his face- he's nursing a glass of scotch. He needed something stronger than coffee and tea. He needed something stronger to help numb the pain. After cutting Erin out of his life, he found himself indoors more often. In the last three weeks, he had only ventured outside to grab the newspaper from the porch. He turned his cell off. He took his house phone off the hook. He hadn't logged into his emails or checked any voicemails. Voight meant it when he told her to choose. He wasn't speaking out of emotion; he was speaking out of protection. He was being honest when he said he physically and mentally wouldn't be able to handle it if she died.

Hank pushes himself to his feet –steadies his wobbly stance- and then approaches the almost empty bottle of scotch. He gripped the glass bottle and poured its remaining contents into the glass. Voight hated to admit it, but now he was starting to see why Erin fell back into her old ways after Nadia's death. He was starting to understand. It was her way of coping. It was an easy way of dealing with grief. As the scotch ran down his throat, he could feel his emotions numb. Alcohol provided that temporary relief. Voight just wanted something to make him feel less hurt, less in pain, and possibly take away the reminder of Justin's death. The biggest reminder of them all was his memory; flashes of his son constantly played through –however, with the much needed burn and strength of alcohol, they started to fizzle out. He finds himself doing the same thing every day for the past three weeks. His days filled with drinking and passing out on the couch. After downing his last glass of scotch, Voight stumbles to the sofa and flops down upon it. He lays back, intertwines his hands atop his stomach and closes his eyes. Voight waits –he waits for the inevitable sleep that usually befalls him after drinking so much, however, when a loud knock beats at the door followed by the sound of a doorbell, he's forced to open his eyes.

Bargaining mixed with guilt are often companions; they work so well together. We doubt and bargain -using if only statements- then we begin to find fault within ourselves; we find something wrong on our part. We search for something we could have done differently to prevent the ill-fated doom of our loved one. We think we have that much power to assume that it was something we could have done to stop it. When we think we could have done something differently, we start to reflect that in how we mourn. We bury our feelings in alcohol, we may participate in recreational drugs, we possibly seek out a therapist, we conceal ourselves in hobbies, we lock ourselves away from the outside world, etc. We do any and everything possible to find a way to lessen the guilt and blame while abandoning the emotions that plague us. We abandon the feelings that we hold accountable for the dark and empty pit that suddenly formed within our bodies. We sometimes even find ourselves bargaining with the pain or the hollow pit that is slowly taking over your heart. We're willing to do anything not to feel the pain of the loss; we're willing to trade or try anything to feel as less amount of pain as possible. We find ourselves stuck in the past, working to negotiate our way out of the hurt and pain. When we find what helps us –alcohol in Hank's case- we stick with it. We're happy with it. We accept it and binge on it because we feel its temporary effects accomplish what we've been looking for –a numb to the pain. Voight rolls off the couch, and lands gently on his knees –he's drunk. He groans as he uses the couch cushions to push himself up to his feet.

"Hank, it's Erin," she's softly knocking at the wooden door, "we brought you some dinner," her eyes flash back to Jay; he's standing behind her, holding a bag of food, "it's your favorite."

Her words are met with silence. She hears nothing from the other side of Hank's front door. It's dark inside. It's quiet. If it wasn't for his car parked in his driveway, she may have thought no one was home. Voight couldn't bring himself to face her; he heard every word and he was extremely hungry, but he couldn't bring himself to open the door. She shouldn't have to see him like that. He was supposed to be her role model, her father figure, and her superior. He was supposed to lead by example, yet here he was drunk –shitfaced drunk- and stumbling all over the place. He finds himself falling to his hands and knees, and he turns to sit on the floor, his back pressed against the door as he attempts to listen and process everything she's saying.

"Hank, come on, I see you," she whispers. It's the truth. Through the large oval-shaped window on his front wooden door, she sees the back of his head. He's sitting –his back pressed against the door- and his head leaned all the way back. Her hand jiggles the handle, "Are you going to let me in? Or are we going to pretend that you're not home?" Her question is met with further silence, and instead of walking away, she decides to talk; he may choose not to look at her, but he has no choice when it comes to listening to her, "The investigation into Justin's death is still active. As you know our unit was taken off the case, and some detectives are coming to get our case files today. Don't be surprised if they reach out to you to see what you know." When she gets no reply or indication that he's even paying her any attention, she closes her eyes and presses her opened palm against the glass window, "Hank, I'm not choosing work over you. I would never in a million years do that. You're just grieving right now, and you're making demands of me through that grief. That job is my anchor Hank. It helped get me clean. It has pulled me through a lot. I can't just leave it. You know that, and if Justin didn't die, you wouldn't have been ordering me to quit. That idea wouldn't even have crossed your mind! You're scared. You have every right to be; it's understandable. I'm scared too, but we can't live in fear. We can't let that stop us from doing what we enjoy –from doing what we love. You're a cop. I'm a cop. And that's not changing any time soon. But, if me not leaving my job means that I don't love you, and that I don't cherish our relationship, you're completely mistaken. We shouldn't run from what we're afraid of; we can't run and hide from our fears, because just like our emotions, they'll eventually catch up to us, and the last thing we want is to be too tired to fight and get through them."

From his seated position on the floor, Voight looks up to stare at the framed photo on the side table. He reaches forward and swipes it from the stand. It's a picture of Erin and Justin together at a job picnic a few months ago. His thumb brushes over his son's face –he was smiling so hard with his arms practically squeezing the life out of Erin. She's just as happy in her plain clothes and badge strapped to her belt. She's looking at the camera –her smile as wide as he's ever seen it- Justin's muscled arms wrapped tightly around her, and he's embracing her with all the love a brother is able to possess; it's endless. It was Voight who took the picture; the picture of his two favorite people in the entire world, both happy and healthy. Olive took the baby to visit her mother for the weekend. Justin's visit was a welcomed surprise. His hands clench around the frame and he brings it closer towards him; pressing it hard against his chest and he forces his eyes closed, trying to take his mind back to that day, back to the day where everything was great.

"Open the door Hank," Erin whispers as she jiggles the doorknob; he makes no movement to comply with her demand. Jay remains behind Erin. He's holding the bag of food in one hand while his other hand wraps itself loosely around Erin's upper arm. She glances towards it and smiles, "Jay and I are outside and we brought you some food. It's getting cold. Just open the door and talk to me. Hank," she shakes the handle, "this is ridiculous. You can't just cut someone out of your life because you're afraid to lose them! How does that even make sense? Hank!" Erin shouts, continuously pulling at the doorknob; it was a fruitless attempt because it wasn't going to budge, "I won't let you cut me out of your life," She releases the knob, takes a second to dig into her pocket and withdraws her car keys. Erin sniffs –holding back a few droplets of tears- as she tries to insert the key into the lock; it didn't fit, "You changed the lock."

Most people often think that each stage will last for a certain amount of time, whether it's weeks or months. What most people seem to forget is the stages are in response to emotions that can last for minutes or hours as we fall in and out of one and then another. We don't arrive and depart each stage in a direct fashion; it's possible we could feel one, then another and another and then go back again to the first one. It's not a check off list. If you feel one –check it off- and you won't feel it again; that's not how emotions and grieving works. It's not how people work. The stages of grief do not occur the same way for all people. The time we spend on each emotion is not the same for everyone. Hank isn't the only one going through the grieving process. Everyone who loved Justin is currently handling their emotions the best way they know how. Erin is helping Hank –or at least trying to- while Jay is helping and is there for Erin. Jay's arm finds itself wrapping around Erin's lower waist. He had to act before she could. He saw the bubbling anger ready to erupt itself in regards to everything Hank is doing to push her away. She felt betrayed. She felt heartbroken. The look on her face the second she realized he changed the locks was indescribable; the best way to even attempt to define it is wrath intertwined with shock. She was indeed surprised by Hank's rash actions.

"…maybe we should go. We can always come back later."

"No," Erin pushes herself free of Halstead's hold, "I know he's in there Jay. We can clearly see him. The damn window glass," she waves her hand in the direction of the decorative glass window, "may be a little distorted and hard to see through, but we can clearly see him sitting there –doing nothing! He's not even acknowledging our presence!"

Erin's flat opened palm hits against the oval-shaped window. Hank doesn't move –he doesn't bulge- or make any indication that he heard her nevertheless even knows she's on the other side of the door. Voight continues to stare down at the picture; he can't find it in himself to look away. Erin and Justin were both so happy that day. Nothing and no one could bring them down. He wanted to stay in the past; he didn't want to come back to reality. It was a reality that wasn't worth being present in. Justin was dead. Erin seems to have a death wish. Voight finds himself more fragile today than he has ever been in his entire life. He hadn't spoken to Erin in weeks because he refused to answer or respond to any of her texts, emails and phone calls. Erin continues to beat her hand against the glass as she stares down at his unmoving figure, "Hank," he remains quiet and doesn't respond to her plea. Halstead pulls her hand away from the glass; he doesn't want her to hurt herself. She reaches for the doorknob and jiggles the handle, "Please just open the door and talk to me. This isn't like you! I need you back. I need the man who was always like a father to me back." She uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose, "Hank, nothing will happen to me. I promise. Just open the door and talk to me like an adult!" The tears brimming her eyes are too much to control; they spew out in intense waves of grief, "You promised me!" Her hand hits the glass window again, "When I was a kid and you took me in, you looked me in my eyes and promised that you would never abandon me. You promised."

A few drops of tears roll off her face and land somewhere downwards. She's too emotional to care. She's too heartbroken to pay attention. It isn't important. What's important is the reason she's here; it's her trying to get through to such a stubborn man. With anyone else, she probably would have given up weeks ago. He needs her just as much as she needs him. Death is already hard to work through when you have both family and friends behind you –supporting you along the way. It becomes even harder to get through when you're doing it alone –when you're doing it with someone who doesn't get it. Erin's hand wraps around the locked doorknob, "Growing up, so many people came in and out of my life, and when people enter my life, I always keep it in the back of my mind that they'll leave; they always do, I remind myself of that about everyone, everyone except for you Hank." She briefly looks back at Jay to let him know that he's included in the small category of people she knows won't ever leave her side, "I never worried about you leaving because I trusted you, I loved you and I looked up to you. You were more of a parent to me than my own, and that's not something I say just about anyone, I said it about you because it's true. You're my family, but family doesn't treat family like this. Family doesn't turn their backs on each other. Family doesn't just stop being family because you're scared! Family is stronger than that…or at least, it should be." Voight remains silent.

Erin feels herself getting worked up; she feels that rage coming, but the second Jay's hand rests upon her lower back, she releases a loud and long calming breath. Anger disappeared from her face and in its place was acceptance, "Okay," she takes a step back; it's the first step back she has taken since she arrived, "That's it," she nods, "I get it, I'm done." Erin brushes her hands together in defeat, "If you want me to be a part of your life Hank, let me know." She watches Jay set the bag of food down as close to the front door as possible. He wraps his arm around her shoulders, and tugs her closer, "And you know what," Erin stops walking; her voice rises high enough to know that Voight can hear her, "You can't just stop caring about someone Voight just because you want to, either you still do or you never did, and from the way this conversation is going, I'm starting to assume that you never did." Her eyes fall down to the cold bag, "Your food is by the door. We're out of here." Jay's hand slides down her arm and envelopes her own hand in a comforting entwine of limbs. He tugs gently upon her hand and the two set out to approach Erin's car –they needed to get back to work anyway.

It's normal for us to try to bargain our pain away. It's a good sign; it's an indication that you're starting to grasp the situation and the grief is starting to set in to where you can eventually move on to two of the hardest things ever; depression and acceptance. We bargain in hope that we can avoid something that will cause grief. We act upon those bargains in hope that it actually makes a difference. Voight could only hope that by withdrawing himself from Erin, the love and care he has for her would dwindle. He can't be near someone who doesn't value their life. He can't surround himself with someone he holds the same amount of love for as he did his own son. That was all a recipe for disaster. How he feels about Justin's death would be a repeated and recycled wave of emotions for Erin's death. We bargain to protect ourselves; it's another protective mechanism. We would rather do any and everything to avoid the feelings of grief. It's a wave of emotions that you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. There's emptiness in your heart that can never be filled because of what it lost. We're all human; we're all mortal beings who won't live forever. We'll all die someday.

The second Voight hears the car drive away, his muscles relax and his face contorts into one of sadness and pain. It hurt him just as much as it hurt her. He reaches forward and sets the picture frame down onto the table. If Hank could offer up anything to ensure Erin's safety, he would. If he could trade something to bring Justin back, he would. He would do absolutely anything for the both of them. Hank's hands wrap around the doorknob and he uses the door's sturdy frame to pull himself to his feet; he stumbles, but eventually steadies himself. He swings the door open and his eyes fall down to the white plastic bag. He picks it up, opens the lid of the food inside and smiles; it's his favorite. This decision wasn't easy for him, but he not only cut Erin out of his life, he cut the whole team; he cut off everyone he even remotely cares about. Voight recloses the lid, smiles once more and then shuts the door.


	4. Depression

As one progresses to the next stage of grief, our attention, focus and feelings move directly to the present. We're no longer stuck in the past. Empty emotions present themselves, and the grief we feel comes into our lives on a much deeper level –deeper than anyone could ever envision. It comes in the form of depression –not the clinical definition of the word, but on a pure emotional state that is formed and regulated by the death of a loved one. It's not a sign of mental illness; it's the sign of grief. It's an appropriate and normal response to such a great loss. This state of grief gives off the sense that it'll last forever, and unfortunately for some, it does. It's the stage where a lot of people get stuck; they can't go about their days, they drown their emotions in alternative –sometimes unpleasant- ways, and they wallow in pity and grief. We withdraw ourselves from work, activities, and hobbies –basically life in general- we take ourselves out of anything involving the outside world. Our beings are left in an unclear haze of extreme sadness, questioning and despondency. We think we're alone; it's what the depression pries upon. We wonder if there is even any point in going on when we're alone. What's the purpose? Why should we fight through these emotions and continue on when we care about many other people whose death may befall us in the future and the entire cycle will repeat itself?

After the sudden death of a loved one, depression is frequently seen as an unusual and peculiar state that requires fixing; it's something one usually tries to snap themselves out of –you're stuck in a funk of some sort- a mood that can suddenly be hidden by a fake smile. We often question why we're sad after a loved one dies; to be depressed is a normal effect, to not be is not. Even after eight weeks has passed since Justin's death –two months in total- we remain wary of our own feelings. When the loss of a loved one is completely settled within, the realization that your loved one didn't heal and will not be coming back becomes understandably depressing. Depression is a step in the grieving process, and it's a necessary stage that moves one further in healing. It's a universally accepted and experience of grief; it's a symptom in the process of getting through a traumatic death. You find it hard to go on without that special person in your life. Feelings of emptiness, solitude and hopelessness are subcategories of the overall emotion of depression and crying is one of the many ways to release its binding hold over you.

For each individual, grieving is a separate, personal individual experience. How one is able to grieve is dependent upon their individual attitude, their personality, their coping mechanism, life experience, faith, belief and the nature and relationship of the loss. Regardless of how you grieve; to grieve in general takes time. It has been eight weeks since Justin's death and Voight feels himself healing slightly, but the ache from his son's absence remains. It'll always remain. Emptiness will continue until the healing process finishes. The healing process itself happens progressively; it cannot be forced or hurried –and there is absolutely no standard timetable for grieving the death of a loved one. You'll have some people begin to heal completely within weeks and months while for others, the healing process is a bit longer –it's measured in years. Whatever one's experience of grief is, it is significant and imperative for one to be patient with themselves and allow yourself to experience the process naturally; you shouldn't try to disrupt or change it. It's meant; it's meant to unfold. It has been stated many times –it wouldn't hurt to state it again. Every individual person grieves differently. No two lives –or two people- are the same, and therefore no two deaths, no two grieving experiences and no two ways of healing will be the same. You may find your experience for one death being dramatically different than another depending on the proximity of your relationship with the deceased and the circumstances of their death. In the case of Justin; he was Voight's son and his death was so sudden. It was unexpected and the abruptness of a loved one's death makes it even harder to grieve it.

The most identifiable, universally-accepted symptoms of grief are depression and sadness. Those emotions aren't questioned; those emotions aren't deemed unacceptable by society. The feelings of sadness and depression were the emotions expected to arise from grief –not anger and denial. Regardless of how we feel, we must remember that after the loss of a loved one, to feel anything –any emotion- is a perfectly normal response. It's what drives Voight to drink day in and day out. It's what withdraws us from normal activities and the daily tasks of life. It's what keeps him locked away; it's the justifiable excuse he uses to explain his absence, his day drinking and the current reason he's passed out drunk on the couch.

The buzzing of his cell against the coffee table woke him from his unexpected nap. He had no intention of falling asleep, but when you drink yourself numb, you do a lot of things you didn't intend to do. His hand reached out subconsciously and slapped against the table in search of the disturbing device; he grabs it. Voight flips the phone over and the brightness momentarily blinds him; his eyes are forced to squint in order to adjust to the illuminating light so he could see who was calling him at such an ungodly time.

"Al? It's," he briefly pulls the phone away to check the time; it isn't as late as he thought, "it's four in the afternoon. I asked to be left alone. Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait until-"

"Hank, listen to me. It's Erin." The panic in Olinsky's voice sobered him up; it snapped him out of whatever dreamlike state he was in.

Voight hears sirens in the background of his phone call –his body springs up, and he's already heading towards the front door, "What happened?"

"The ambulance just pulled up; get to Chicago Med Hank."

Before Voight could even utter another word, Olinsky hung up. He had more pressing matters to attend to –that being Erin Lindsay. However, the feeling of being in a vortex of absolute darkness and surrounded by the many possibilities of what could have happened to her is what freezes him. What is he about to walk into? What happened to her? This is exactly why he needed her to quit. Even though he was busy, Olinsky should have told him something; anything to prevent his imagination from filling in the blanks. To not know –to spend time thinking about any and every little thing- is maddening. It can drive someone out of their mind. Was she shot? Stabbed? Run over? Did she fall? Hit her head? The possibilities were endless and it wasn't fair for Olinsky to make him wait. Was Erin –his daughter by choice- on the thin line between life and death? Was she already gone? What was Hank Voight about to walk in on when he gets to the hospital? As the father of a man who died eight weeks ago, he was still grieving. He couldn't grieve her death; he honestly didn't have it in him. Voight would drink himself into oblivion; he would drink himself to a point where he wouldn't even be able to recognize his own name.

Hank finds it in himself to unfreeze; he grabs his keys and races out of the front door. Without a second thought, he already turns on the sirens; he has to beat the ambulance. He has to see her and assure himself that she's still alive and breathing. He has to see that she won't turn out like Justin. Voight is her healthcare proxy; he has to make the tough decision in the case that she is unable to make them for herself. If she's brain dead, he has to decide whether she should be withdrawn from life support. If she flat-lines, he has to make the decision of whether or not they should continue to resuscitate. What kind of decision is that to place upon someone who doesn't know her wishes? Voight should know what he's walking in on. Olinsky should have at least made him aware of the state she's in before disconnecting the call. Without her, he has no one. Without Erin, he's alone. He cut her out of his life to prevent something like this from happening, but here he is, pulling into the hospital parking lot.

Voight had spent most of his days trying to ignore the pain and prevent it from surfacing; however, he did realize that in the end, it'll only make things worse. You must truly feel in order to heal. Any emotion you feel is better than feeling nothing at all. If you're sad, scared or lonely, those are all normal reactions to death. Crying has no obvious connection to one's ability to remain strong; it absolutely does not mean you're weak. You are not obligated to protect your family and friends by putting on a brave face; it'll hurt you more in the end. Soon, you'll break down; we all do. If you show them your true feelings, it'll help both them and you. Hank feels the urge to cry –show every locked away emotion- as he exits his car. The urge to cry clearly evident on the strained expression plastered against his face. It's normal to cry; it's a normal response, but it isn't the only one. If you don't cry, it doesn't mean you don't feel just as passionate about a death or a hurt loved one as someone else does; it just means you have alternative ways of expressing your grief.

Voight remained in a blind panic as he raced into the ER –his eyes first spotting Olinsky before they could scan for anyone else. Al is standing with Ruzek –the rest of the team absent. Hank is out of breath; his hands fall to his knees and he's roughly breathing in and out. He remains standing in the emergency entryway; the look on Alvin's face freezes him; it's a look of fear, of confusion and it's one that possesses a struggle in trying to figure out how best to talk to Voight.

"Incoming!" He hears Maggie shout, brushing Voight out of the way of the rolling gurney.

Voight had managed to beat the ambulance to the hospital by a few seconds. The paramedics rush inside; one on each side of Erin. He sees her; for a moment, the gurney stops and he's able to take in the sight of her. She's pale and soaking wet. He doesn't see any obvious signs of injury; the only clear indication is her unconscious state. Her shirt is disheveled; it's ripped down the middle, presently showing her black bra and the dark shades of bruising on her abdomen.

"What happened?" Voight is gently pushed out of the way as the ER doctor rushed over. He wants to reach out for her; he wants to snap his fingers and make everything okay. He desperately wants to assure her that he's here and he has no plans of leaving. He wants to tell her that she's going to be okay, but the truth is, he didn't know. He didn't know if she would make it out of this because he didn't know what was wrong with her.

"She's my patient," Dr. Rhodes informed the paramedics as he wrapped the stethoscope around the back of his neck. He leans over Erin, and checks her inhalation; she was so small and fragile that it kind of seemed like she wasn't breathing in any oxygen; she honestly didn't look alive.

"What's going on? What happened to her?" Hank's question falls on death ears as Dr. Rhodes gives her a brief inspection; he checks her pupils, he checks her pulse, he checks her breathing, etc. Dr. Rhodes himself didn't even know the full story as to what led to Erin's current state, and even if he did, now wasn't the time to tell Voight. He needed to attend to his patient first.

"Erin crashed when we first got there," Brett informed Dr. Rhodes as she locked the wheels of the gurney. They loudly counted to three before transitioning her body to a hospital gurney, "We managed to bring her back. We didn't want to move her until we got her stable. Once we got a stable heartbeat, we loaded her into the back of the ambulance and got her here as soon as possible. She kept a steady, but weak heartbeat the entire ride."

"She's cold," Dr. Rhodes felt against Erin's abdomen; his hands drift to her arms, legs, neck, "She's freezing." He scans her face, "She's soaking wet. Her lips are purple. Her pulse is weak. We need blankets! We need a lot of blankets! NOW! She's hypothermic!" Blankets are brought over and Dr. Rhodes snatches them out of the hands of each nurse, "We need to get her out of these wet clothes and cover her! I can't check the damage done to her abdomen until her heartrate and body temperature is controlled."

Before further questioning could be asked, Dr. Rhodes and two ER nurses wheeled the gurney away. They disappeared behind corridors restricting access to any nonessential personnel. Their disappearance left Voight standing in the emergency entryway –his mouth agape- he hears the squish of shoes approach, and he slowly turns around. His eyes are met with the saddened eyes of Jay –Erin's partner and boyfriend. Halstead is soaking wet; from head to toe, he's drenched in water. Voight takes one step towards him, earning the raised hand of Halstead to silently tell him to stay away. Jay grunts angrily, walks into the waiting room and kicks the nearest chair.

"What happened?" Hank demands an answer; he's still grieving Justin's death, and he's absolutely sad, but none of that was going to take away from his purpose in learning what happened to her; he had every right to know.

Jay's back remains turned, "…like you care."

"Halstead, what happened? What happened to Erin?"

"She almost drowned; that's what happened!" Jay immediately turns around to face him. He was angry; Voigt was sad. The waiting room was filled with high and low emotions radiating from everyone within it. The last thing Jay wanted to do was relive what happened. If Voight was there –like he should have been- then he wouldn't have to relive through what happened to her because Voight would know; it could even possibly been prevented if Hank was there.

Voight responds in a whisper, "Erin can swim."

"I'm not having this conversation. I can't," Jay's voice breaks, "not now."

"Halstead-"

"You don't get to do that." Jay snaps loudly; he storms towards his former boss until they're practically face to face; chest to chest; man to man, "You don't get to shut her out of your life and break her heart just to come back when you're good and ready! That's not fair to her!" The hurt Halstead is feeling is obvious; to be honest, without the flood of fear and pain coursing through his body he probably wouldn't even have the courage to speak to Hank like that. He wouldn't have it in him, but as Jay stands –eye to eye- with Voight, he feels constantly reminded of the Erin he had to comfort, hold and protect; she cried next to him, she grieved by his side, and she wept the second she realized that Hank truly meant it when he kicked her out of his life. The longer he looks at Voight, the angrier he feels himself getting, "You don't get to ignore her calls, ignore her texts and refuse to answer the door when she visits but then come scrambling here for information on her! You don't get to do that!"

Tears bristle within Hank's eyes. What Halstead said was the truth, but it didn't make any of it easier to hear. Without Erin in his life, the grieving process became that much harder. His grief settled within his heart, and eventually brought about intense feelings of emptiness and gloom. Without Erin, he was truly alone. He never thought about how much he needed her until death became a possibility. It was at the door waiting for her. It was trying to take her away like it did with Justin. Voight meddled in Justin's life, and death took him away, and now it's all being done over again, but with Erin. He just wanted to protect himself; that's why he pushed her away. He didn't do it to purposely hurt her; he would never try to intentionally hurt her.

"The circumstances have changed."

"Why?" Halstead snaps; the depression embedded onto Voight's face doesn't make him back down. He's speaking up for Erin because she currently is unable to speak up for herself and she doesn't deserve to be treated like this. She lost Justin too. She's just as hurt. She's grieving as well, and to be cut out of the life of the one person you see as family, you trust and you love like a father –that's heartbreaking, "Is it because she's hurt?" Jay furrows his brows in wonder as he bites against his bottom lip, "I thought that was the whole reason you cut her off in the first place? I thought you couldn't bear to be in her life because of situations like today?

"What happened to her? Erin can swim." Voight knows Jay is angry and with good reason, but his main focus was Erin; he needed to know everything that occurred, "How could she almost drown? I…I don't get that. She can swim; how could she almost die when she can swim?!"

Olinsky briefly scanned the room –the only people present besides himself is Voight, Halstead and Ruzek. He knew Halstead was too upset to speak, and so he stepped towards his oldest friend, "We were chasing a perp and we decided to separate in order to cut him off and cover more ground. We were supposed to radio in to each other when we spotted him."

"Erin spotted him," Voight muttered; it sounded more like a question, and Olinsky nodded to answer. She was the first one in the squad to spot their perp. Hank turns completely and takes a seat; he wants to hear the whole story –he wants nothing left out- Halstead sits next to him as Olinsky and Ruzek loop their former boss in on what happened.

 _Erin ran. Once the orders were given that they're going to separate and corner the suspect, she ran. She followed orders. Regardless of whether or not she agreed with them; she followed orders. Erin ran down the street; her weapon remained holstered. When she saw him near the docks; she approached. She radioed his location in. Erin usually didn't go against orders –and when Antonio told her not to advance towards the perp she listened- she did in fact listen to his orders, but as he walked along the docks, she feared he would get away. He was their number one suspect in a double homicide. She owed it to the loved ones of the victims to bring justice._

 _It was her first instinct. She didn't think about it. If she did, she probably wouldn't have done it. As Erin gave chase, she tackled him. Both the perp and the detective fall into the water. Erin wasn't the greatest swimmer; she was by far not a competitor in any capacity, but she knew how to stay afloat. She knew how to not drown. She knew how to get from point A to point B without being taken completely under. However, in this case it was different. In this case, when she fell in, the weight of the perp and the weight from her Kevlar vest took her straight under. She normally didn't freak out; all she had to do was swim upwards. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Unluckily, her shirt became latched onto something –a hook maybe- it was holding her beneath the water. Any breath she held was immediately released once the panic set in. The perp's arms are gripped around her body; he couldn't swim. He used her to prop himself up enough for his nose to remain afloat atop of the water._

 _Erin's scared –she's terrified in thinking that this could be the end and no one knew it. She's sad because things between her and Voight are horrible and he would blame himself for this. He would think of their last conversation –that would forever haunt him. Erin still cared about him and loved him like a father regardless of how he treated her. She had to make it out of this, -if not for her and Jay- for him. He made it perfectly clear to her that he would be unable to get through her death on top of Justin's passing; she promised him nothing would happen to her. She had to keep her promise. She couldn't back down on her word. With as much strength as she could muster underwater, she gripped her shirt and gave it a tug._

 _The man's muscular arms are around her; they're squeezing her tight. Any remaining oxygen she held was pushed out. She tries to push him off. She tries to relieve herself of his heavy weight, but his fear and strength mixed together created a horrible outcome. He is absolutely terrified; he's trying to use her body as leverage to practically climb back onto the docks. Erin knows help will come soon; she radioed it in. Lindsay continues to try and pull her shirt free, but the longer she stays underwater, the weaker she gets. She's cold. Chicago temperatures are low today and the temperature in the water is even lower. She can feel her jaw trembling and she can somehow hear her teeth chattering. As she pulls, she can slowly feel her shirt ripping free; she feels it completely slit open in the middle._

 _Lindsay is forced to take off her vest; if she was going to be able to rip the remainder of her shirt free, she needed one of the things holding her down removed. Her rash and quick underwater movement sends a panic through the perp. He can't swim. The only reason he was on the dock was to steal a boat in his quest to lose the police. The perp has to think quickly when his nose dips under the water. He starts swinging his fists; his legs are wrapped around her and his fists begin swinging –as fast as the water allowed- towards her abdomen. He needed her to stop moving. He needed her to remain still until he can grab onto the side of the dock and pull himself up. As he scrambles to reach for the edge of the dock, his feet kick. They kick to push him forward and close in the distance between his long arms and the dock. He's successful. He latches on to the edge. He can breathe. Erin still can't. She's still stuck. She's unconscious. His boot made impact with the side of her head. She lost consciousness._

 _The perp coughs; his large body flops down onto the wooden dock. He hears feet rapidly approaching. He tries to roll over and stand up, but he's exhausted. He hears orders being shouted; he sees three pair of feet surround him. Dawson and Atwater have their weapons drawn; Ruzek is pulling the perp to his feet._

" _You are under arrest," Dawson holsters his weapon and withdraws his handcuffs, "You have the right to remain silent-" he continues to read the suspect his rights as Atwater and Ruzek lock away their weapons._

 _Atwater grips the perp's arm, "Why were you in the water?"_

" _I wanted," his face scrunches together as Dawson tightens the cuffs around his wrists, "I wanted to go for a little swim," he smiles. The lie evident in his mind but disguised on his face._

" _We can take him to booking," Olinsky runs over; Halstead a few feet behind him. The older detective stops; he looks from the water to the perp, "He was in the water?"_

 _The perp laughs once more, shrugging his shoulders in nonchalance, "I wanted to take an afternoon dip."_

 _Halstead takes a slow step forward; his eyes scan the team, "Where's Lindsay?" He radios in for her, but gets no response. He takes a closer step towards the perp, "She's the one who radioed in his location. She should be here."_

" _I forgot to mention," a smile stretches itself even wider across the perp's face, "she decided to join me for my afternoon dip in the water."_

" _Call an ambulance," Halstead orders._

 _Without further discussion, contemplation or thought, Jay throws off his radio and jumps into the water. It's cold; that's the first thing that registers in his mind. His Kevlar vest sinks him and it's hard to see anything in the murky water._

When someone is taken from us, we begin to not care about much. We start to feel nothing; we're numb. We find ourselves not caring about anything, and regrettably, we find ourselves wishing life would just hurry up and pass. The simplest of tasks become struggles; getting out of bed starts to burden you, the feeling of exhaustion and indifference start to set in, and we even find ourselves wondering what's the point, why even attempt to do something, to go somewhere, what is the reason to continue on? Your depression sets in. That's where others come in; that's where family and friends come in and try to help us get out of this depressive state. However, if we aren't open and if we don't let them in, they become limited in their abilities to help. The depressive funk we find ourselves in is no mental illness –it's simply the natural response to death. We're not experiencing clinical depression, we're experiencing grief, mourning and lamentation, and the emotions involved in depressing absolutely have to be experienced in order to even remotely heal. That's the importance of feeling; it's going to hurt, but you have to feel the pain, the loss, the heartache, the grief and the anger.

We push people away; we become determined to prevent the repeat of emotions that this loss has brought us. We shut anyone we care about out of our lives; it'll hurt now, but we cross our fingers and hope that the pain will nibble away in time. It affects the person we shut out. Voight distancing himself from Lindsay –obviously hurts her, but we're too absorbed by the intense feelings of grief that we overlook it. All we can see and think about is our own emotions. What we fail to realize is even if we keep someone we love at an arms' distance, we will still feel the pain of the loss of that loved one. You don't know when it's someone's time to go, and therefore, pushing them away isn't the answer; it's not the appropriate response. Enjoying time with that person is. Spending as much time with them is the best way to live with no regrets when death inevitably knocks at their door. Voight realizes it; he regrets it. He pushed her away. As two loose tears trickle down his cheeks; his body rests uncomfortably in the cheap waiting room seat, and his hands cover his face as Olinsky continues, "Jay said she was latched onto something. He ripped her away from it and swam her up, but by then she was already pale. She was already unconscious. I called you right after I called the ambulance."

"What happened to the asshole?" Voight growls; his hands fall from his face, and his fingers intertwine. His eyes are staring off into the distance; they're glazed over and unfocused.

Olinsky sets his hand upon Hank's shoulder, "Dawson and Atwater took him to booking. We're supposed to keep them updated on Erin."

"That's when we find something out." Halstead spat to no one in particular; he finds himself unintentionally pacing –his body is unable to keep still, "What's taking so damn long?"

"We have to be patient." Olinsky reminded; he was just as worried as everyone else, but someone in the room needed to remain clear-headed and strong.

Jay quickens the speed of his pace, "…that's one virtue that I don't possess."

"Well, you're going to have to start working on it today. We can't rush this. The doctors are the professionals and they know what they're doing. Trust them."

Accept the emotions. Trust the emotions. They don't make you weak. Depression doesn't make you less of a person. We're all entitled to feel; we're all humans. Our beings were made to feel. It will benefit us in the end. The sadness, the emptiness and the grief will cleanse us; we'll feel brand new. We have to be patient with ourselves because in the end how we're feeling is the way out; it's the way to move forward in accepting the loss. Olinsky's hand remains implanted on Hank's shoulder, "How are you? Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay. Why would you even think I am? What kind of question is that Olinsky?" Voight shoves the hand of his oldest friend off of his shoulder; he wants no contact at all, "My grandson is in Minnesota. My wife is dead. My son is dead. My daughter is dying."

"She's not dying!" Halstead snaps; his pacing comes to a complete stop and he's now standing in front of Hank, "She's strong! It's going to take something bigger than this to take her out!"

"I know she's strong."

"Then act like it!" Jay shouts; he watches Voight rise from his seat and they're now standing eye to eye, "Act like you care!"

"What's the point in caring if all it is going to do is bring me pain?" Hank's voice matches the pitch of Jay's; they're both two testosterone filled men whose emotions are on overdrive right now. Voight feels a crack break into his walls; he's trying to keep himself together, but the vulnerability comes out without warning, "For the first time in my life, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to make it all better."

"It's not your job to make it all better. It's out of your control." Olinsky's hand manages to set itself against his friend's upper back, "We know you miss Justin and that's hard, but-"

"Missing Justin isn't the hardest part Al; it's the fact that he's never coming back that's killing me."

Ruzek finds himself in the back corner of the waiting room. To see two people –Voight and Halstead- that he looks up to and respects for their endurance and their ability to push their feelings aside and act out, break down, in front of anyone passing by the waiting room was heartbreaking. He barely knew Justin –he may have met him once or twice-, but how Voight cried for him made it feel like he lost a brother himself. Ruzek couldn't be in that conversation; he would surely breakdown. It has him thinking about Erin. It has him going through what ifs in how he could have done something to avoid this. He could have stuck by her side. He could have switched locations with her. He could have known that there was a reason the perp was in the water. There was a lot he could have done to save her, and if she died, Ruzek would blame himself. He uses the top of his thumbs to wipe beneath his eyes as he zones back into the conversation. Voight shoves through Olinsky and Halstead, "You wouldn't understand."

"You're not the only one who has lost someone Voight." No matter how angry and upset Hank is getting, Halstead refused to back down. He approached his former boss, "You're not the only one who has experienced the death of someone you love! Death doesn't choose which people to affect. It affects everyone." He grips Hank's shoulder and turns him around quickly to face him, "Look, grief doesn't just go away! You can't just walk it off. You can't shake it off either. It doesn't work like that. It's not that easy to get rid of."

"I just want to know she's okay," Voight switches the conversation back to Erin –she was still here, she wasn't dead -at least not yet, "I want to see her."

"You have some nerve?" If it wasn't for the rush of adrenaline and emotions coursing through Jay, he would never in a million years have the courage to speak to Hank like he is.

"What the hell are you talking about Halstead?"

"I am tired of acting like the way you treat her is what she deserves! She has done nothing to deserve this." Jay's hand wipes the water from his forehead; however his hair continues to drip it onto his face regardless of him previously wiping droplets away, "And I find it frustrating when she is so upset and the one who upset her acts like it's no big deal."

"You think I want to feel like this?!"

"…of course not!"

"I'm tired of feeling the way I do inside! I'm tired of not being able to explain my feelings! I'm not that type of person!"

Olinsky joins Ruzek –the younger detective is obviously in need of some comforting. Both of their phones are constantly buzzing with text messages from Dawson, Atwater, Burgess, Platt and Mouse. They all wanted updates; they wanted updates that none of them had. Al wraps his arm around Adam and pulls him into a hug. It wasn't asked for, but it was needed. Both of them needed the comfort of someone, and that's what squads are for; they're there to comfort, support and protect you when you need it the most. Sometimes that comfort and support comes in the form of tough love –it's needed for the stubborn folks.

"You can't keep pushing her away and then show up the moment it suits you." Halstead's hands fly into the air, "You can't treat her like that." His face is strained and the louder he yells, the redder his face grows, "If you don't appreciate what you have, then you don't deserve to have it anymore. I won't sit back. I'm not going to watch you make her cry. I love her too much to allow that to happen regardless of who you are to her."

"I go numb! It's the only thing that helps me go on! And I enjoy being alone, and the longer I'm by myself, the more I want it to stay like that. I can't help it!"

"…then why are you here? Are you going to prance into that room and comfort her just to leave her side the second she's on her feet again?" Jay's breathing in loudly; his ragged breaths are a clear sign of his anger, "I'm done letting you treat her like that. If you're here to just walk away then you can save her the trouble and leave now."

"This hasn't been easy for me either Halstead! The absolute hardest thing I had to do was let go of the one person that held me together." Voight's voice breaks as he attempts to explain himself; it's one of the first times he verbally expressed himself to someone outside of Erin and Al. It's different. It's relieving. Hank squeezes his eyes shut and struggles to keep his fists unclenched; he's just as mad as Jay is, "I just need to know that she's okay!"

"For all intents and purposes, you're her dad. You're more than a boss to her; you're the man who made her who she is today. You love her; that's what brought you here and that's what'll keep you here."

"…but if she dies-"

"Love changes, but it doesn't end, it doesn't go away just because they do."

"If she dies-"

"She won't!" Jay loudly interrupts; his arms cross over his damp shirt, "Stop giving up on her Voight! She never, and I mean never, gave up on you. She deserves the same respect."

And Jay was right. If there was hesitance or doubt in Voight accepting Halstead's relationship with Lindsay, it was gone the moment this conversation played out. Jay had her back. Jay would never give up on her. If there was anything that comforted Voight in him distancing himself from Erin, it was knowing that she truly wasn't alone. Yes she had the team, but she had Halstead too. She had him at work and at home. He never abandoned her and from the way their argument played out, Voight knew that Jay would never abandon her. It wasn't in his character, at least not when it came to Erin Lindsay. She had a way about her that managed to swarm into the hearts of anyone and everyone who actually got a chance to get to know her. That's what scared Voight; when he first met the young Erin Lindsay, he saw through her tough demeanor and cracked open the shell that shielded her and prevented her from opening up to anyone. She was real. She was honest. That's what scared him. She was the person that pulled him from denial. She was the person who was going to push him into acceptance. And that scared him; so he pushed her away. However, it comes a point in time where you realize that pushing someone away isn't the answer. There comes a time after grief where you realize the true degree of your loss, and it is depressing. It further isolates you –both unintentionally and purposely. You're scared to go back to your normal life out of fear of forgetting your loved one. You reflect on things you did with him, and you focus your time in remembering the memories of the past. It's the only way you can assure yourself that you won't forget. Nonetheless, the loved one that is still alive –the one you pushed away- you grieve for them too. You lost them, but the difference is, once you realize that you're grieving the loss of that relationship, you want them back and with work, you can actually get them back –the same can't be said for the death of a loved one.

If given a second chance, you would do things differently. You find your second chance in Erin –Voight knows that if she lives, it's his second chance. It's the one he bargained for with Justin and it's being given to him through Erin. It may not be true, but it's what he wants to believe. He wants to believe that if Erin survives this then Justin played a factor in it.

"Dr. Rhodes," Olinsky notices him first and when he calls out the doctor's name it alerts everyone else of his presence, "how is she? Is everything okay?"

"Erin is going to be fine," Dr. Rhodes immediately relaxes the group of men with his calming expression and relaxed body language. He wasn't worried so they shouldn't be; at least that's what the doctor was hoping to translate.

Halstead turns away from Voight; their conversation long forgotten as he focuses on Erin's doctor, "What? What about the hypothermia?"

"We managed to get her body temperature up before it shut down any major organs."

"And the bruising on her abdomen?" Hank prodded; he couldn't find it in himself to relax until he knew she was completely in the clear. He didn't like surprise; he absolutely despised them.

"No sign of internal bleeding. She's going to be in pain for a few days, but she'll make a full recovery." Dr. Rhodes assured; he reassuringly squeezed the older man's shoulder in his efforts to swear to him that Erin was going to be fine. The second Voight nods, Dr. Rhodes' hand drops and he turns to face Jay, "Halstead, she's asking for you." He nods.

"Can I come?" His voice is sad. It's actually heartbreaking. It actually saddens Halstead who was previously boiling with rage. Hank Voight; tough as nails cop, stern, intimidating and Erin's father was asking him for permission to come to Erin's room.

"You better not leave her."

"You have my word."

For the first time since they've been at the hospital, Halstead smiles and waves Voight over, "What are you waiting for then? Let's go."

You reach the stage where you must confront the reality of your loss and your own helplessness to change it. During this time you find yourself crying more, sleeping less, eating irregularly, blaming yourself for thinking that you have contributed to their loss in some way and withdrawing yourself from family, friends, work and activities all while processing the loss you've experienced. It's the normal motions.

The walk from the waiting room to Erin's room feels longer than intended. He's following Jay but he feels like he's taking the quest on his own. He's been living in a fog for so long that the first glimpse of reality is actually comforting. For weeks living felt overwhelming; it was honestly too much to handle, hence the reason why he chose to lock himself away from the outside. He didn't feel like talking his feelings out. He didn't want to express his emotions. Voight didn't want to be around people at all. As he approaches the outside of Erin's hospital room, he finds himself hesitate; it's the first time he ever hesitated when it came to her.

"You gave me your word," Halstead reminds; he reaches out for the door knob and without any reluctance, he pushes the door open.

Their eyes take her in. They see color being regained in her paled face, but it's barely visible. Her lips were a lighter shade of purple –no longer the dark coloring indicating her earlier signs of hypothermia. She's no longer in street clothes; she's dressed comfortably in a hospital gown. Jay pictured it being worse; he had honestly thought he was going to walk in on her looking as bad as she looked when she was first wheeled in. Jay didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to relive that; he couldn't. It was a moment in time that he would pay anything to forget. She was watching him; her fingers are weak, but they're trying to wave him over.

Halstead sighs in relief, "Erin-"

"Don't make a big fuss over me. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Jay-"

He grabs a chair and slides it over, "I'm sorry. You just really freaked me out. I thought I lost you. I really thought I lost you."

"I thought you lost me too."

"Shit. Erin, you had me terrified." His hand covers hers; her own hand is cold. His warm one clasp around hers and he squeezes it tightly, "You were in and out of consciousness. You stopped breathing in the ambulance. I really thought-"

"I know, but I'm okay now." She extends her hand and lightly brushes a teardrop off his cheek.

"I'm not leaving your side; I swear."

Erin smiles; her dimples pierce through as her hand caresses the side of his face, "What if I have to use the bathroom?"

"I'll turn around and not watch."

She chuckles. It's angelic. Voight watches from the doorway and smiles. It's a sound that he thought he wouldn't hear again. He never put much thought into not hearing the sound, the pitch and the tone of her laugh, but now that he heard it, he knew that he wanted to hear it again.

"I'm sorry," Jay immediately asserts the second he sees her grip her stomach. It's hurting her.

Erin waved it off; she attempts to mask the pain through a smile, but he can see it in her eyes, "Don't apologize for making me laugh."

"Making you laugh made you hurt."

Lindsay shrugs it off and unclenches her arm from around her stomach, "It was worth it."

"Damn, I really love you."

"I love you too. Come here."

Jay rises to his feet and leans over to gently –and as carefully as his strong arms would allow- envelope her fragile body into a hug. His lips presses against the side of her face as she exhales all of her worries away. He finds comfort having her in his arms. The smell of salt water in her hair he didn't care about; she was alive and she was going to make a full recovery, that's what is important. He pressed another kiss against the top of her head before drawing back. His eyes -full of love, relief, appreciation and gratitude- rest upon her, and while he expected to see a similar expression plastered against her face, he didn't. He saw that her eyes were no longer focused on him. During the hug, she saw Voight; she saw him standing nervously by the door.

"What are you doing here?" Erin asks as Halstead retakes his seat in the chair positioned beside her bed. His hand picks hers up and she allows it; she needs the comfort and the support.

He takes a step closer, "You promised me."

"What?" Lindsay's eyes furrow in confusion.

"You promised me that you would be safe. You promised me that you wouldn't take risks." With each sentence, he takes another step closer, "You promised me that you would stay out of danger. You promised me that nothing would happen to you."

"…well I guess we both broke our promises, huh?"

"You almost drowned." He saw through the indifference on her face. He knew her sarcasm was a mask for how she's truly feeling. Voight was sorry. He's back. He's worried about her and he's not going anywhere. He gave Halstead his word and he made a promise to Erin a long time ago.

Voight is feet away; he wants to close in the remainder of the distance, but she raises her hand to silently beg for him to stop. She needs him to stop approaching. Erin closes her eyes and blows out a long and stretched breath of air, "Hank, my body hurts. My lungs are burning. My stomach is sore. I'm a little cold. I have a headache. I almost died thinking that you were going to blame yourself for my death. I almost died thinking you wouldn't survive my loss. I was close to death thinking that if I died, how you reacted to it would be my fault. I couldn't even find peace in dying because I thought my soul was going to be burdened with how you chose to grieve." The tears that fall from her closed eyes are quickly wiped away by Jay's hand. She sniffs in, but her eyes stay closed, "We haven't spoken in weeks; if I had died, you would constantly replay the last thing we said to each other. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let you blame yourself. I couldn't let you feel like that. When I was underwater, I had to fight. I had to do what I could to make it back here, back to Jay, back to the unit and back to you."

"Erin-"

She reopens her eyes when she cuts him off, "I'm sad too Hank. I grieved Justin's death too." The past tense of the word grief does not fall short on Voight's ears, "I was in denial. I got angry. I bargained with whoever was in my presence at the time. I was depressed. And then I accepted it. I accepted Justin's death. However, just because I accepted it doesn't mean that it doesn't occasionally make me sad or cry or breakdown. It doesn't mean I'm over it. It doesn't mean that I've wiped my hands clean of him. It doesn't mean that I'll forget him. It just means that I'm allowing myself to continue living a life –one that I deserve to live- a life that we can't take for granted because for some it's unfortunately cut short. It's okay to feel sad. It's okay to cry. It's okay to be depressed. If you want to breakdown then you have every right to do so. It'll only help you come to terms with acceptance in the end. Justin wouldn't want you living like this."

Hank nods; he knew she was right. He takes another step closer; he's hoping –crossing his fingers- that she doesn't stop him again, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't do this on my own. I can't reach that last stage by myself. I need your help." He managed to approach the side of her bed, "I need you by my side. I need you in my life. I need you with me on this."

She offers her free hand to him, "I'm here…just tell me what you want to do."

"I just want to cry and fall apart for a while and then we can figure out what to do next." He takes her offer and slowly wraps his hand around hers.

"We can take our time and fall apart as long as we need."

"Yes," his head nods rapidly, "I think that's a great idea."

"Okay, let's fall apart then."

Tears begin trickling down his face as he envelopes her into a hug, "…lets fall apart."


	5. Acceptance

Acceptance is understood to be the final stage of grief. It sounds clear cut, but nothing is as more complex as grief. It's written in five _simple_ steps but to experience it in life, it feels endless. Something as complex as grief is written down in five steps; it's irrational. It's confusing to those who follow the five steps like law; it's not meant to be followed verbatim. It's meant as a guide. It's meant as a reminder that what you're feeling is normal. It's an assurance that grieving is as common as happiness or love. On paper it's easy to pass through, but to experience it in life is the ultimate test. It's a test of endurance, of durability and resilience. Acceptance is like the finish line. Once you run through the untimed obstacle course of grief, you'll eventually make it to the end titled acceptance. It is frequently confused with the idea of being okay, all right, and completely fine with the death that occurred. That's not true. People don't just feel okay and perfectly fine with the loss of a loved one. If they could do anything to bring them back, they still would. This stage isn't about being alright and okay with the loss life you're grieving; it's about accepting the reality that the person we love and care about is gone; it's recognizing that the reality we're now living in is everlasting –it's a new permanent reality without them in it. We don't like it and we don't have to like it, but with time we have to accept it. We have to accept what we cannot change, so we learn to live with our new reality -Voight's new reality; a life without Justin. It's the new norm that he eventually learned to live in.

It's still hard; it'll always be hard, but pushing through the toughness makes us stronger. Six months after Justin's death Voight finds himself consistently pushing through the pain. He takes it one day at a time, but he can feel the difference acceptance has brought to him. It does get easier; he finds himself admitting that more than he thought he would be able to months ago. Time played a factor. Erin played a larger factor. The combination of both was very helpful. Voight knows that for the rest of his life he'll be living in a world where his son is missing. It's an unfinished puzzle. It's a puzzle with a lost piece, and it can never be finished because the piece is lost forever. He will never be able to find it. Six months after Justin's death, Voight knew that he could no longer deny the new norm –his new life- because no matter how hard he tried to maintain a life before Justin was killed it's tough, it becomes unmanageable and more harder to do than accept that we cannot make the past our present. The past is the past for a reason. Our lives have been permanently changed and instead of trying to bridge our past and present together, we must readjust and adapt to our new present.

To show acceptance we begin to have more good days than bad ones. That's one of the clearest signs of accepting the death of your loved one. Sometimes –and with justified reasoning- we do retreat backwards and begin to feel guilty; we think we're betraying our loved one because we're living again and enjoying our new lives. We're not though. We're doing what they would want us to do. We're moving through the grief and accepting the loss. We're accepting the feelings. We're pushing through depression because it eventually leads to acceptance. We're listening to our needs. We're growing, changing and evolving to our new reality. We're reaching out to others. We're investing in long-term friendships. We're investing in ourselves. We no longer view ourselves as temporary beings –ones who will eventually perish- we see ourselves as beings of opportunity, of chance and of living in the present. We're realistic in knowing that we're going to die sooner or later, but we use the knowledge in that to experience life and take upon the opportunities in living to actually live. We start to live again. After your grief has had its time to settle, you start to live and enjoy life again. We're not cured of anything; acceptance doesn't mean that. Acceptance isn't medicine given to us to rid us of some illness; accepting is simply the recognition, compliance and living with or through the illness. In this case –illness can be the analogy for death- the loss we suffered –or the illness we're suffering through- will always be a part of us, even if the illness goes away, we'll remember what it felt like to live with it. The loss is forever and some days we will feel it's impact more than others, but that doesn't mean we haven't completed the five stages of grief. It doesn't mean we haven't accepted the loss. It just means we're human. We're going to feel. We're going to go through the endless emotions of grief, especially when it comes to death. Grief is complex. Death is even more complex. Acceptance doesn't mean we're over it; to put it simply, it means that we're ready to try and move on, we're ready to adapt our lives into a life that continues on without our loved one and we're ready for the process of grief to be complete and in the end we'll find ourselves pulled closer to our deceased loved one as we make sense of the true importance of life and living.

For the first time since Justin's burial, Voight and Erin visit his grave. A dozen flowers rest in both of their arms as they silently lean forward to set them down in front of his gravestone. Erin's hand briefly rest upon the headstone –her fingers brushing over the written manuscript of beloved father, son and brother- he was her brother. You don't need blood to make someone your family. You need love, trust, respect, friendship and so much more. He was her brother by fate and by choice. As her hand rests upon the inscribed word of brother, her eyes drift to the engagement ring wrapped around her finger. Voight sees it –it's the first time he sees it on her finger, but the second time he sees it overall.

"I see Jay proposed," Hank whispers; his eyes remain on the sparkling band around her finger.

Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, "Yeah he did," she responds; her eyes never once leaving the inscription on Justin's tombstone.

"When?"

"…two weeks ago."

Hank stoops down beside her, "Why didn't you tell me?" Her eyes never look at him. They remain on the word brother inscribed on the headstone. In her peripheral, she sees his hand rest against the edge of Justin's gravestone and she knows he can see the tears continuously welling up in her eyes. She's trying to suppress them and her response, "It was never the right time," breaks her voice; it comes out gurgled and on edge of spilling the rest of her tears.

"Why?"

"…because you were grieving! We were both grieving. We were trying to make plans to visit Justin's grave. Our focus was on Justin. It was never the right time to say anything."

"You could have told me."

"I didn't want to be selfish."

Voight turns her around; a stern look evident across his face, "How could you be selfish?"

"I'm going to get married. I'm starting a new life. That sounds pretty selfish to me." Her hand remained pressed against the tombstone as she struggles to compose herself. This wasn't about her. This was supposed to be about Justin. They came here to say goodbye to Justin.

"You still could have told me."

"You were upset. You were grieving. You were in pain and hurting."

"Regardless of how I'm feeling you can tell me anything Erin," he rises to his feet and pulls her up with him, "especially when it's something this big."

"Didn't you know already? Jay told me he asked for your blessing beforehand and he even showed you the ring." She feels his hand wipe away her tears. And when the last teardrop is wiped away, his hand drops to rest upon her shoulder, "I knew he was going to ask. I just didn't know when. I had no idea that he already proposed to you."

"I'm sorry for not telling you."

"I'm sorry for making you think you couldn't tell me."

Erin turns back towards the gravestone, "I told him."

"And how did he take it?" Hank questions, smiling as he watches her sit down

Erin's legs are crisscross, and her hand is tracing the word brother across the headstone, "I'm going to say he was happy for me."

"I'm going to say the same thing too kid."

Lindsay's fingers trailed down the tombstone and found comfort in picking at the lawn. She's pulling each thread of grass out of the ground and tossing it over her shoulder. Voight stares down at the top of her head; Justin may be gone, but he still has her. He still has Erin. After her near-death experience, Voight held her close and refused to let go. He wasn't alone. He wasn't childless. Justin was still his son and he had Erin. Hank stepped closer and set his hand atop of her hair; she smiled and looked up at him, "I miss him so much."

"I do too."

She continues to throw shards of grass over her shoulder, "Teddy is my brother biologically speaking, but I was always closer to Justin. I grew up with Justin. I did more things with Justin as my brother than I did with Teddy. I argued with Justin. I hugged Justin. I teased Justin. I got in trouble with Justin. I played with Justin. I vented with and about Justin. Growing up, I did everything with him. He was my brother. I really loved that boy."

"I know you did and he loved you too."

"He really was the best."

"Yeah he was."

She throws one last shard of grass over her shoulder, "And now he's resting in peace."

Erin brushes her hands together –a few specks of dirt drop from her palms- she pushes against the ground and stands up. Voight is in front of her, and the tombstone is beside them. It comes to Erin's lower hip; it's sturdy, it's the best. Even though Justin wasn't here to see it, they wanted the best for him. She's looking down at the tombstone; how could such a great man be diminished to rest beneath a gravestone? People who visit their loved ones in the other graves will have no idea who Justin is, what he did and what he has overcome. No one would know how much he was loved and how great of a man he is. And that needs acceptance too.

"We're going to be okay kid."

Erin smiles, and uses the back of her hand to wipe away her fallen tears, "Look at you cheering me up. How the roles have reversed?"

"We're here to cheer each other up. We're here to lean on each other's shoulders."

"For me, the hardest part is being here; it's seeing the grave. It's saying goodbye."

"It's hard for me too kid." Hank turns her to face him, "I've never been really good with those."

"It's just us left," she whispers; a small frown pulled at her lips.

Voight nods and repeats, "It's just us left."

"Camille and Justin are gone."

"It's hard to really believe it." Voight's eyes glaze over; he's thinking of his wife and son. A faraway look usually crosses his expression when he thinks of them.

Her eyes drift downwards and her hands worriedly rip loose threading from the bottom of her shirt; it's soothing, "It is; I just keep thinking about the day you took me in. I would have never thought in a million years that fifteen years from then, we'll be here. We'll be at Justin's grave."

"I'm scared to think of what the next fifteen years will bring us."

She looks up, and for the first time since they arrived, she smiles, "Hopefully it brings you love, peace, some more grandchildren maybe, happiness and most importantly freedom. You can't go to prison Hank."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You killed someone and they're investigating Justin's murder which will lead them to his killer's death."

Hank shakes his head and repeats himself, "I'm not going anywhere."

"It's just us left."

Voight pulls her into a hug, "And I'm not going anywhere. You have my word."

His word was all she needed. His word was enough. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. There's nothing like resting in the arms of your father –biological or not- there's nothing like being comforted in a hug from your dad. You feel unstoppable. When you're in the strong arms of your father, you feel undefeatable and impenetrable. You feel like you can do anything. Erin knows she's going to be okay. She knows Voight will be okay because they have each other.

Lindsay steps back and she notices the confused look on Hank's face, "I should go sit in the car. You probably want to spend some time with your son."

"You don't have to go."

"I know, but you need this. We've been working towards this Hank. You got this."

"Hey, come here kid." He waves for her to step closer, "I don't know if I ever told you this, but the happiest days of my life were when you and Justin came into it." Voight drapes his arm around her shoulders when she approaches.

"No matter what happens with the investigation into Justin's death or what comes out of it, I'll always have your back. I'll be with you every step of the way." Her arm drapes around his waist and her head leans against his shoulder, "You're my family. I got your back."

"How did you turn out to be so perfect? Between me and Bunny, how did you become so great?"

She rolls her eyes and smirks, "I'm not perfect. I'm far from it actually."

"You're perfect to me; you and Justin were always perfect to me."

"We had a good role model."

"Thank you," Voight mutters; his focus falls down to the tombstone and he's staring down at the inscription of his son's name. It read Justin Voight; beloved father, brother and son; veteran. He reads his son's date of birth and the second his eyes fall to Justin's date of death, he feels the loss of connection with Erin. She's no longer holding him. His arm is no longer around her shoulders. Without taking his eyes away from the headstone, he feels her peck his cheek and the crunching of leaves beneath her feet is the only indication he has of her walking away.

Our new reality is accepted. We're fully aware that our loved one is no longer and will no longer be present in our lives. Your life has changed, and it has changed for the permanent. The stage of acceptance is where we begin to pick up all the pieces of our life and put it back together. Any relationships we torn apart due to our grief, we fix it. Any damages we made in our careers, we fix it. Acceptance takes the pieces our pre-grief life and tries to fit it into our post-grief life. If it can't fit then it's not meant to be in your new reality. Some things cannot continue on in our new world of realism. Acceptance helps us figure out what should be discarded. You accept and deal with the reality of your life and the situation of your loved one's death. Acceptance isn't instant happiness and content; it takes work to get there. It takes grieving to get there. In order to enjoy a good day and good emotions, you have to know what a bad day and bad emotions feel like; you have to be down in order to appreciate being up. After everything the pain of death has brought you, there's no way you can return to the exact same person you once were; after the death of someone that close to you, you're no longer the same. The you that existed before death is a different you that exists now, and that's okay. Life experiences change who we are all the time.

For the last ten minutes, Voight stood silent. Sometimes silence says everything that you're unable to say. Silence isn't always silent. Sometimes it has meaning. Voight can see Erin sitting in the passenger seat; she's wiping at her eyes. Hank admired her tenacity and her strength. She had to be the strongest person he knows; she got him through every rough patch he can think of –his wife's death, going to prison and Justin's death- she got him through it all. And if she said talking to Justin right now would help him, he believed her.

"I'm so proud of you Justin," Hank finds the words to speak; he didn't exactly know what he wanted to say so he decided to just talk without thinking about it first. Voight slowly takes a seat in the grass; his legs are stretched out and his head is tilting in the direction of his son's tombstone, "I never got to tell you that. That's on me. I used to blame myself for your death but I know now that it isn't my fault. That's not on me. I wasn't the perfect father, but I did try, and I hope you saw that. Whatever choices I made in life –some I regret and some I don't- I always had the best intentions. I never claimed to be a good man, but I at least tried to be a decent one for you, your mother and Erin." Voight felt the cooled wind blow through his short hair as he continued, "You're gone and you don't need to worry about anything down here. My grandson will always be safe and protected; same for Olive and Erin."

Voight looks up at the sky –the sun will be setting soon. He closes his eyes, breathes in the fresh air and embraces the strong gust of wind breezing through the cemetery. Hank reopens his eyes and looks back at the tombstone, "I actually had a dream about you visiting me," Voight adjusts the flowers laid out decoratively in front of his son's headstone, "You actually told me that I didn't have to apologize for accepting your death. You were proud of me for accepting it. You wanted me and Erin to move on with our lives. You wanted us to live out the rest of our lives to the fullest. And you told me, you told me that you'll always be watching over us." Hank gets up and wipes his hands clean of any grass stains, dirt and grime, "It comforted me. It made me a little happier knowing that you and Camille are out there watching our backs, especially Erin's," his eyes drift over towards the car; she's on the phone and she's laughing –she's relaxed and happy, "Thanks for bringing her back to me. I don't know what I would have done if I lost both of you," he continues to watch Erin; she must have been talking to Jay, he's the only one who has ever made her smile like that; her smile is contagious, it makes Voight smile, "Forget protecting me, I want you to protect her. I can already see myself hovering over her every second of the day. I need some assurance that she'll be okay. I need a sign. I need something to know that you'll watch over her," Voight's voice pleaded; he knew he was asking for a lot, but it was worth a shot. However, nothing happens. He didn't know what a sign would look like, but he figured if it happened, he would know right away. Hank nods; he accepts that it's all in his head. The dream, the hope and the anticipation was gone. It was all in his head. It was all in his head and Voight had to be okay with that.

As he turns to walk away, he feels the wind blow again. This time it's stronger though. This time the wind blows longer. The leaves on the surrounding trees shake. He hears the birds tweeting. And as he looks down to his shoes, he sees flower petals. A few flower petals blew and fell upon the top of his shoes. Maybe it wasn't all in his head. Voight smiles; he takes that as a sign. For a brief second, Hank turns back towards the tombstone, "Thank you son; I love you."

Voight turns to leave and for the first time in six months, he genuinely smiles. He got closure or at least some form of it. Voight knows that he still needs more time to move through his grief. This isn't the end. His grief isn't over. He's just moving in the right direction. Hank is actually looking forward to the future; he's happy to see what it holds. And for the first time in six months, Hank can actually think of the future without breaking down; he can think about Justin without the weight of the added pain and sadness that usually comes along with it. He's ready for that. He's ready to think of his son and not be fallen with grief and sorrow. Justin deserves to be thought about with cheerful emotions arising, not pain and despondency. In time, Hank knows that good times will come and he's looking forward to experiencing the joy in those moments. He's looking forward to making new moments and memories; he knows Justin will be watching, and he wants to live not only for himself, but for his son.

Erin gets out of the car as Voight approaches. Her arms are wide open and he walks towards her until she is able to envelope him into a hug, "How are you doing?"

"Don't worry about me," he pats her back before stepping out of the hug, "I'm good. I saw you in the car laughing. Who were you talking to?"

"Halstead," Erin smirks as she pulls her cell phone out of her pocket, "He's hungry."

Voight pulls out his car keys, "I guess we should go pick him and head out for something to eat." He jogs around to the driver's side, and opens his door, "It'll be my treat." Erin slides into the car.

"There's actually this place Justin always wanted to take me," Erin informs, buckling her seatbelt.

"Is it on the way?"

"No," Erin stares forward; her eyes looking at Justin's tombstone at a distance, "It's actually like 45 minutes away…maybe an hour."

Hank puts the car in drive, "Text Halstead to be ready. We're on our way to pick him up. And put the address in the GPS."

"Wait. We're going?"

"Justin recommended it so I'm pretty sure it's worth it. Let's go."

Erin grins and excitedly leans forward to set the address in the GPS, "Let's go!"


End file.
